


The Slightly Tragic yet Very Inspiring Story of Casien Yedlin, Orphan, Scholar, and Mage

by ArtemisMoonsong



Series: The (Really and Truly Inspiring) Story of Casien Yedlin [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Romance, M/M, Mutual Pining, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-27
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-05-14 08:05:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 121,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14765744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtemisMoonsong/pseuds/ArtemisMoonsong
Summary: Casien Yedlin is newly arrived from Solstheim. Unfortunately, Windhelm is not the paradise his aunt and uncle hoped it would be.It's funny what you learn to put up with to avoid dying from starvation and frostbite.





	1. Chapter 1

_*beautiful art by[agaricals](http://agaricals.tumblr.com/) !! _  

* * *

_Casien,_

_By now you uncle, your cousins, and I will have long left the city. Please know that we love you, and that we will always love you. You are seventeen now, and strong and clever, and I know you will do well on your own. There was room and board only for four on the caravan, and we could not lose this opportunity to make a better life for the girls._

_Remember your mother and be brave,_

_Aunt Melda_

I read the letter with groggy, hazy eyes, pausing to blink several times so that the words would stop swimming before me. When I finished it, I went back to the beginning and read it again. By the third reread, it had become evident that the words weren’t going to change.

I lay back against the fading warmth of the bed and closed my eyes. Unfamiliar sounds and unfamiliar smells assaulted my senses. I had no idea where I was, and I had a splitting headache on top of it all.

I lay silent for a few more minutes, listening to the people below me. Wherever I was, I was on the top floor. I recognized a few of the voices. I didn’t know them, but I felt as if I’d heard them before.

After a while, I finally sat up fully, rubbing the side of my head as I did. The room seemed to tilt for a second before eventually righting itself. The feeling repeated itself as I got unsteadily to my feet, but by the time I’d pulled on my boots and taken a few steps towards the rickety looking door, I’d gotten my bearings back.

I headed down a hallway whose closed wooden doors mirrored my own—more bedrooms, I guessed, then downstairs, past a landing, then into what appeared to be a sort of common room.

I blinked in the low lighting—there were fewer windows down here than there had been in my bedroom. I _did_ recognize the place. It was the Corner Club.

“Well look what the cat dragged in,” said the man behind the bar. “Or dragged down, I should say.”

I looked at him, hovering on the bottom of the stairwell, trying to remember his name. Elenil, I thought. Malthyr Elenil.

“Is that the one whose parents left him here?” asked a woman.

“Aunt and uncle, I think. Told me they drugged him, too, if you can believe it. That’s right, boy,”—evidently noticing the shocked look on my face—“There’re layers to _this_ betrayal!” He chuckled and resumed cleaning the spots off a few glasses. “Been asleep for two days, he has. Paid for his board; it was almost everything they had, I think, then off they went. Said they had a fresh new prospect and it was the only way.”

“These may be hard times,” said the woman, “But that’s still a bit much.”

“Well, you don’t have children, do you, Suvi? They had two little ones with them. It’s my understanding that folks will do anything when it comes to the well-being of their children.”

“And a son or daughter supersedes a nephew,” said the woman, hmphing in apparent disapproval.

All this time I had remained standing at the bottom of the stairs, holding onto the railing with one hand as if it were the only thing keeping me upright. Hearing Malthyr confirm the contents of my aunt’s letter was one thing; hearing that I’d been drugged was another.

“They only paid for two nights, you know,” said Malthyr, evidently talking to me again. “So you’ll have to find a new place to lay that sweet head of yours down tonight, unless you can pay that is.”

Of course I couldn’t pay. I didn’t have a septum to my name.

“I can work,” I said. “Wash dishes, sweep. If you need someone…”

“We don’t,” said Malthyr, “Now don’t point those doe eyes at me, boy; you’ll get no sympathy from this corner. Everyone pulls their weight around here. Windhelm isn’t the place for charity. We none of us can afford it.”

“You’re too hard on the boy,” said the woman, who I now recognized as Suvaris Atheron. She worked for a local Nord family; my aunt had begged her for work, but she’d put her off again and again.

But she seemed sympathetic now, so I had to try.

“Do you…?” I started, but before I could finish, she shook her head, holding up one hand to stall me.

“I’m sorry, but no. I’m not in a position to hire anyone. It’s a miracle the Shatter-Shields even took me on in the first place.”

“Nord-lover, this one,” said Malthyr, nodding at her.

“Hilarious,” said Suvaris, but there was no real amusement in her voice. “Go and ask up at Candlehearth Hall. Elda may need someone to serve drinks.

“And you think she’d hire a _gray-skin_?” asked Malthyr, his lip curling up with disgust.

Suvaris shrugged. “It’s worth a try.”

I nodded my thanks and made my way towards the door leading outside.

“It’s cold out today,” she added, “you’ll want to bundle up.”

I paused, glancing down at my ragged coat.

“This is all I have,” I said.

“Poor child,” she muttered, returning to her drink. And with that, I was apparently dismissed.

She was right. Windhelm is _always_ cold, but today was particularly bad. The wind whipped down from the tops of the walls, and snow flurried all around. I shivered and stuffed my hands up under my armpits.

Funny how grand the city had seemed when we’d first arrived here. It was still grand, but now that grandness seemed far more imposing, impersonal, as if it were me against a thousand uncaring dark stones. There’d be no succor within these cold walls. Its inhabitants had taken on their city’s persona; they hadn’t much left in the way of compassion, as it seemed survival superseded any other response.

That was worse in the so-called Gray Quarter. People were poor, very poor, there, and they’d had to harden their hearts to the sorrows of those around them because there simply weren’t enough resources to care for everyone. Outside the Gray Quarter, though, people were marginally more prosperous. But now my heritage became a talking point, my greenish-gray skin and dark wavy hair marking me as an outsider to the Nords—never mind that my Aunt Melda had pointed out that dark elves had been living in Windhelm for many, many years.

“Riff-raff,” muttered one man as I passed him. I knew better than to meet his eyes or challenge him in anyway. Two women conversing in the street noticed me and pulled their children closer to them. A beggar who’d been calling out for coins went silent until I’d left her in my wake. That was just as well, since I hadn’t anything to give her, anyway.

The warmth from the Candlehearth Inn blasted me in the face as I opened the heavy downstairs door. It left me feeling almost weak. Several people looked up, gave me the once over, then went back to their beers and their conversations.

I made my way up to the woman behind the main bar.

“Excuse me,” I said.

“Yes?” she said, not even looking up from the drink she was preparing.

I paused to cough—the dry air must have gotten caught in my throat.

“I was wondering if you might have need of a server. Or someone to help in the kitchen,” I added hastily. “Or sweep and clean, or—”

“I don’t,” she said, finally giving me a cursory glance. “You realize half my customers would refuse a drink were it served by one of your kind. And if they learned I kept a gray-skin in the kitchen!” She shook her head. “I can’t afford that kind of charity.”

“What about cleaning?” I said, stubbornness urging me to keep trying. “I can make the beds, wash the sheets. Clean the tables and scrub the floors at the end of the day.”

“Susanna does all that, and I have a man who comes in in the early morning to give the place a daily scrub down.” She scowled, and nodded towards the door. “Go on, boy. There’s nothing for you here. You’re wasting your time and mine.”

I nodded, suddenly exhausted, and turned to go. I heard a man mutter, “Now that was a sad sight to see” to his friend. “Aye. Poor lad,” replied the friend. Their compassion didn’t make the cold hurt any less once I was outside again, nor did it do anything to stay the painful nipping in my belly—that’s when I realized that sleeping for two days straight meant not eating for two days straight, too. No wonder I was suddenly starving.

I made my way down to the marketplace, but I was beginning to lose hope. Then again, I wondered if it was my over-eagerness that was turning potential employers off in the first place. Perhaps if I asked more humbly, or with a seeming nonchalance, people would be less inclined to brush me off.

“I’m self-employed,” said Niranye from behind her stall. “And I don’t hire anyone but myself.”

“I already have an apprentice,” said Oengul War-Anvil. “Do you know anything about blacksmithing?” When I admitted I didn’t, he shook his head. “Sorry, lad.”

“Can you hunt?” asked Aval Atheron. “I get all my meats from local hunters.” No, of course I couldn’t. “I see. Well, I’m afraid I couldn’t really afford the expense.”

Noonday came and went, and still I hadn’t eaten. I began to feel more than a little ill. The dryness in my throat had expanded in the most literal sense; the back of my mouth felt swollen and painful, and my stomach began to give me cramps. By evening, I still couldn’t seem to find employment, and I considered joining the few beggars who hovered near the gates of the city. But there were no Dunmer beggars, and I didn’t know what sort of disruption my presence would invite. I also still had my pride, and the thought of sitting on the stone steps and holding out a little bowl towards people who would otherwise spit at me merely for breathing the same air as them was less than appealing.

The sun finally sank down below the tops of the city walls. Soon even its rays were gone, darkness enveloping the surrounding mountains. The temperature dipped, dangerously cold now. I pulled my coat closer around me, but it seemed pointless.

Not hunger, then, but hypothermia. I was going to freeze to death. Would Malthyr take me back after seeing me? At least let me huddle in the storeroom so I didn’t die? I could claim I only needed one more day to get my bearings. Tomorrow, I’d find employment, surely. I could venture outside of town, try the farmsteads and the fisheries. By then I could even pay him for the night spent under his roof.

But even if I thought he might listen, my feet and my body were too tired to take me all the way back across town. I found myself, of all places, in the graveyard. Weary, sick, and devoid of all hope, I sank down near one of the huge, stone graves. I leaned against it, the grave at least blocking the stronger gusts of wind. I curled my knees up towards me and buried my face forward, cupping my hands beneath me.

There, at my desperate urging, came the faintest spark. I watched it, coaxing it dully to grow until it enveloped both my palms. It was warm, but it didn’t burn me. This was my talent, not a particularly unusual one among my people, but here in Skyrim—it was to be kept secret, my aunt and uncle had instructed me. No one must learn that I had this within me. The Nords fear magic, and fear made them angry, and violent.

The flame was too small to warm anything more than my fingers. I longed to press it to my heart and let it ignite my entire body, chasing away the cold for good. If only such a thing were possible. Maybe part of what led me to quietly accept death at that low moment had more to do with my mental and emotional state than the physical. My only family had abandoned me. I was in a foreign city, where even my own people refused to help me. I didn’t see any reason, truly, to continue persevering. My aunt and uncle and I had left Solthsteim because we could no longer support ourselves. Windhelm had been a last, faltering effort. In the end, I wasn’t to play a part in that effort. I had been discarded, deemed worthy of sacrifice.

My eyes closed as I leaned my head against the hard stone. My skin no longer felt the cold. My mother, who’d known mostly heartache and misfortune her entire life, had not instilled any particular feelings of religion in me. My aunt had taught me to pray, but I never did. Yet in that moment, I thought if I should pray, it should be to the gods of this land, not mine. _Dear gods_ , I thought. _If I am to die, then let it happen. But if I should live, then let me live._

It didn’t make a great deal of sense, but then, I was unused to praying. Within minutes, I finally lost consciousness.


	2. Chapter 2

I was awakened by the sensation of something hard jabbing me in the ribs.

“Ha!” said an old woman’s voice. “Alive after all.”

I blinked and looked up, pulling my head away from my knees. The sun was shining brightly, just peaking over the top of the city wall. The temperature had risen a great deal, too.

It was indeed an old woman who was peering down at me, though thankfully she’d given up jabbing me with her cane.

“Young, too,” she continued, seeming to study my face. “You’re a strong lad, when you’re healthy, I’ve no doubt. How old are you?”

I coughed, the action causing my lips to crack painfully. I could taste blood in my mouth now.

“Seventeen,” I said.

“Aye, and you’ll be stronger in six months’ time, and a year’s.”

I gazed up at her quizzically, but she didn’t elaborate. Instead, she pushed aside a portion of her robes and pulled out a small sack. Upon untying it, she withdrew a leather flask and something wrapped in linens.

“Here,” she said, handing me the flask. “A-ah! Drink slowly, and not too much. Else you’ll throw it all right back up.”

I did as commanded, though I longed to throw my head back and guzzle it. The water was like a cool blanket that lay blessedly over my parched throat.

She tore a piece of the bread off next and handed it to me, again instructing me to take my time. I nibbled when what I truly wanted to do was stuff the entire thing in my mouth as if I were an animal.

“Hmm, well, that should do for now. Can you stand?”

I did so, bracing myself against the grave.

She nodded then turned, waving over her shoulder. “Come with me.”

As we walked past the rest of the graves, I felt as though I were walking through a dream. I suppose my brain was taking a little longer than usual to make sense of things, considering what I’d put my body through recently. I chose to just focus on the old woman, following her as commanded, only tangentially aware of our surroundings.

We paused before a door, the entrance to some sort of temple. It was—of course—the Hall of the Dead. Arkay’s symbol was emblazoned over the threshold, the image reminding me of my little prayer last night. It seemed I’d chosen right: the Nine had saved me after all. And thus here I stood before the image of the god of death himself.

I pushed the disturbing thought aside and followed the old woman inside.

“How’s the belly?” she asked, gesturing for me to take a seat while she shuffled over towards the roaring fire.

“The belly?” I repeated.

“Not going to throw up, are you?”

 _Oh._ I shook my head, no.

She glanced over her shoulder at me, catching the gesture, then studied me for a moment before nodding.

“Right, then, help yourself to what you see on the table. Be sure you stop when you start to feel full. Your guts’ll make you regret it later if you don’t.”

Once again, I did as instructed, though I hardly needed encouragement this time. I had no idea a simple priestess of Arkay would eat so well: there was more bread, a bit of soft cheese, apples, dried and salted meats. A heavy jug of water sat beside the bowl of fruit, and there was a little tin cup beside it. I tried my best not to inhale the food but to eat it as if I were still a sane and rational person. When my stomach began to protest, I stopped, reluctantly, but I knew to heed the old woman’s warning.

The sound of pipes squeaking startled me, and I watched as she proceeded to fill a tub with water, turning a pair of faucets and testing the warmth of the water with her hand.

She noticed me looking and nodded towards the fireplace.

“Fire keeps the pipe hot,” she explained. “But there’s only so much hot water. Don’t expect they have anything like it in the Gray Quarter.”

I shook my head.

She snorted. “I’d better show you how to pull the string for the toilet, then.”

“I know how to use a toilet,” I said, feeling my hackles rise a little. She may have saved me, but I had had about enough of Nords acting as if they were superior to my people in every way.

“Oh, you have, have you? ‘I’ll show that pompous old woman! I’m not some uncivilized little elf!’ Is that it?”

But the look she gave me was twinkling with mirth and completely lacking in condescension. Surprised, I let myself relax—I was too weak and exhausted to remain righteously angry for too long, anyway.

“All right,” she said, rising and turning off the faucets, wiping her wet hand against her robes. “Strip and get in.”

I started. “What?”

She snorted again. “Are you seriously blushing at me, boy? Don’t you think I’ve seen it all at my age? Come now, I’m not letting you crawl into my bed smelling like you do.”

I’m pretty sure I blushed harder.

“Your bed?” I stammered.

She looked at me for a moment, then her eyes seemed to widen before she threw her head back and laughed. She laughed so hard she had to grip the chair beside her, her gnarled fingers squeezing the wood for balance.

“Oh…!” She pressed her other hand against her chest, clearly trying to catch her breath. “I haven’t laughed like that in… well, now, that must have been quite the disturbing thought! Can you imagine! Forced to pleasure the old hag who saved his life! Ah…”

She wiped at her eyes, and at this point my blush had likely reached the tips of my ears.

“Could you at least look away,” I asked, pressing my lips together as I turned to face the tub. The water _did_ look inviting, tendrils of steam still rising from the surface.

“Bashful little thing, aren’t you,” came the reply. “Hmph. I’ll go and tend some of the graves, how’s that. When you’re done, drain the water and use that towel. Don’t you dare drip water all over my floors. Bedroom’s just past that doorway; climb in and don’t come back out until you look like you can stand without toppling over.”

I waited until I heard the door open and shut before finally removing my clothes and stepping into the water.

For the longest time, I simply sat there, leaning back until my head rest against the back of the tub, the water rising up to my chest. I thought an appropriate response to everything that had happened in the past 24 hours would be to show… something. To cry, perhaps, or to rage, to curse my family for abandoning me or this city for turning its back on me. But I didn’t. After a moment, I brought one hand up out of the water, and, concentrating, called the little flame back into life. It flickered and danced, unaffected by the water.

_You are seventeen now, and strong and clever, and I know you will do well on your own._

Maybe those had been empty words, born out of guilt or obligation. But maybe she was right.

Eventually, I finished my bath, careful to dry my feet before stepping out onto the old woman’s floor. I wrapped the damp towel around my waist and wandered down the hallway. The place wasn’t very big; there was a shrine, a place for embalming—I tried not to think about that—another doorway which presumably led down to the crypt. A tiny bedroom was the last room on the left.

Seeing no reason to disobey the bed’s owner or to suspect her of anything nefarious, I lay down and pulled the covers up to my chin. I didn’t think I’d be able to sleep. After all, I’d slept for two full days, thanks to whatever my aunt and uncle had drugged me with. And I’d only been awake for an hour or so since coming to this morning. But when the body needs to heal, sometimes sleep is the best remedy, even more so than magic—but that was something I wouldn’t learn until much later.

When I awoke, there was a clean stack of clothing waiting on the stool beside the bed. I dressed quickly, wondering at the old woman’s generosity. She had to want something for her troubles. Because so far she had been the only person in the entire city to show me even the least bit of kindness, and I still didn’t know why.

I made use of the toilet—and yes, it did take me awhile to find the little string, and to figure out just how hard to pull it—and splashed a bit of water to my face, even used my damp fingers to comb my shaggy hair into place. It wouldn’t hurt to look presentable before my benefactress.

“Look at you, all clean and handsome,” she cackled, once I’d wandered into the main living area. “Leave it to a young person to know to wake just before dinner’s served.”

Dinner! I’d slept the entire day away? It was impossible to tell how much time had passed in the priestess’s windowless living quarters, but still. Maybe that was why I felt so refreshed. And, despite the incredible feast I’d consumed this morning, why I felt so hungry. It wasn’t the old pain, though; I just… wanted to eat. Now.

Dinner was more conservative than what I’d been allowed to wolf down this morning. We each had a bowl of hot stew and a slice of bread that, now that I was no longer starving, I realized was beginning to go a bit stale. Nevertheless, I was happy for the meal and still immensely grateful that I was alive to eat it at all.

“Now,” said the old woman, once we’d both finished our meal. “I bet you’re wondering why you’re here.”

“Do you mean—in a metaphorical sense, or here, right now, with you?” I asked, because I was seventeen, and a deep thinker, but sometimes I thought a little too much.

She snorted.

“Listen to you! You sound like a Greybeard. Hmm, I suppose the answer might be “both,” but for now, I mean right here, now, with me.”

I nodded, a little embarrassed, and waited.

“The name’s Helgird. I suppose we’re long due for introductions.”

“Casien,” I said. “Casien Yedlin.”

“It’s a pleasure, Casien. As you may’ve noticed, I’m not getting any younger. Now it’s my job to tend to those who can no longer tend to themselves. I can well handle the more spiritual nature of my job, but there are more practical aspects to it that aren’t exactly getting any easier each year.”

My eyes widened—this was too good to be true.

“You need help,” I said. “Someone to help with…” I hesitated, but forced myself to go on. “…with the bodies.”

“Just so. Many times the family will help, but that’s not always the case. And many times the family doesn’t want to help, on account of grief. And many times there’s no family at all. And one day, if I’m not careful, I’m going to throw out my back or break my arm lifting someone or digging a grave.”

“I can do that for you,” I said quickly. “I can definitely do that.”

“I can’t pay you,” she said. “I live on donations, and luckily Windhelm is filled to the brim with very spiritual people. And the jarl takes care of people like me.”

“People like you?”

“Priests, priestesses, and the like. He knows how important we are to the spiritual well-being of his city. He’s no fool, that Ulfric Stormcloak.”

Since coming to Windhelm I’d heard a variety of opinions regarding Ulfric Stormcloak. Mostly bad, since most of them came from fellow Dunmer. It was interesting to actually hear someone speak well of him.

“Is he a good jarl?” I asked. “A jarl is like a king or a queen, isn’t it?”

“Well, yes; in fact I think that may be the original meaning. As for whether he’s a good one or not, insomuch as he fulfills his duties to his people, I’d say he is.”

“But not _all_ his people.”

She smiled a grim smile.

“Spoken like a man from the Gray Quarter. And the Argonians and the Khajiit would agree. But the thing to know about our jarl is that he’s a politician. Wasn’t always one, but he’s learned his trade well. Whether Ulfric himself agrees with the segregation seems a moot point if you ask me. He does what the richest people in this city want him to do, for the most part. Because now we’re at war, and wars cost money.”

“I’m not from the Gray Quarter, you know. I was born in Solstheim. I only arrived here a few weeks ago.”

“Your origins won’t account for much in this city, boy. It’s the color of your skin and the tilt of your ears that determine how people will judge you. And whether or not you’ve got a tail, I suppose.”

I wondered vaguely what that would be like as I finished my stew—wouldn’t it always be getting in the way, especially when sitting? Afterward, I helped Helgird clean up. I asked her if I needed to be trained before I began assisting her, and she assured me I’d learn as I went. In the evenings, she liked to go to the graveyard and pray over and tend to the graves; she conscripted me to accompany her, as I would every night from now on, so that she wouldn’t have to worry about her safety. I didn’t know what sort of security I could possibly provide, but she armed me with a walking stick and a little knife to attach to my belt. I couldn’t imagine actually fighting, but I supposed that if it came down to it, I’d do what I could to protect her.

Afterward, she disappeared into the crypt to tend to those graves, and my time was my own. I entertained myself with her expansive library, and luckily only a few of the books were about religion. When I was finally tired—she had long since returned and retired to her own bedroom—I banked the fire and lay down on the pallet that had been lain out for me by the hearth. This was to be my bed since there were no additional bedrooms, and I wasn’t remotely sorry for it. It was soft and warm and safe, and that was all that really mattered.

The next morning became a blueprint for the start of my day for the next year or so of my life. I would wake to the smell of breakfast cooking; Helgird was a morning person, so she handled breakfast. Afterward, I would take care of any errands for her while she tended the graves. If there were no burials that day, as there weren’t most days, I cleaned the house or busied myself with odd jobs about town. This had been Helgird’s suggestion, so that I might begin saving up a bit of coin. Now that I was known to be assisting the priestess of Arkay, people were far more willing to pay me to complete simple jobs, such as deliveries, construction, or cleaning. I would usually stop back in around noon to grab a quick cold lunch, then see if Helgird needed me for anything before heading back out again. In the evenings, I helped her tend the graves, then prepared dinner. She was usually tired from being on her feet all day and appreciated being able to sit down while I nursed the food over the fire. Then she went to bed while I read until I couldn’t keep my eyes open or until the fire had died down to embers—whichever came first.

I can’t disregard how much I learned that year. From her surprisingly expansive library, I learned about Tamriel, about Skyrim, the history of other races, religions, and cultures. From my dealings with the townspeople of Windhelm, I learned about economy, etiquette, and politics. Those things are important when you’re a short, young, greenish-gray-skinned boy in a city full of tall, yellow-haired warlike people.

That often became the most apparent on burial days.

Most burials went fairly smoothly. Perhaps at first it was a lot to take in—I’d seen death before, of course, but to be on the outside of it—to stand by silently and watch and listen as people wept and reached out to touch the cold skin of their loved one one last time—it was strange, and it was hard. I had to come face to face with the fact that this was just a body. In many ways, that made me almost cynical amidst their grief. But I knew that in a few minutes time, Helgird and I would be alone with that body, especially if it had once belonged to a well-to-do person.

Because the Nords, the ones who can afford it—they embalm their dead. It’s a gruesome process, or at least it was to me the first few times I was called to assist Helgird. First the body had to be thoroughly washed. We massaged the muscles with oil so that the limbs would lose their stiffness. We drained the body of blood and other fluids. We poked a hole in the belly to remove gases and some internal organs. It was, of course, my job to dispense of these fluids and organs, and this must always be done after dark, and the location of dispersion must never be revealed to the general populace—it would be too disturbing for them. The jarl, as I was told all jarls and mayors did, had set aside a location for that very purpose. It was behind the palace, and the guards began to know my face as I passed through with my little cart at least once a week. Windhelm was a large city; overpopulation was a mild problem, and disease would occasionally run rampant through her streets. We were also in the midst of a war.

In any case, as you might imagine, not every well-to-do Nord family in Windhelm was keen on their priestess of Arkay having a Dunmer assistant.

I remember it pretty well—the first time such an incident occurred. I guess that sort of thing sticks with you, or, as I said before: I was seventeen, and naïve, and constantly surprised by the cruelty of other people.

“He’s not going to touch her, is he?” asked the old man.

His eyes were red, as if he’d been weeping for his dead wife all evening, which he probably had been. His adult children stood around him. One, a daughter, put her hand on his shoulder. The other two, sons, stared at me.

“You’d best help me lift her yourself then,” said Helgird, “If you don’t want his help.”

“No filthy gray skin’s putting his hands on my Elspeth,” growled the old man.

One of the sons shouldered me out of the way before moving to carefully lift the dead body of his mother. He carried her outside while Helgird and I followed. The old man could be heard weeping from within again.

“It’s all right, Father,” said the daughter. “She’s with Aunt Elga now. She’s in Sovngarde.”

“Is she?” came the weak, dejected reply.

Helgird closed the door behind us.

“He’s not to touch her,” said the son, once he’d lain his mother gently on the cart.

“Then you’re coming back with me,” said Helgird. “ _I’m_ not going to lift her.”

“Fine,” he grumbled, and off we went.

I pushed the cart, of course, since that was basically my job. The man didn’t seem to mind; I suppose so long as I wasn’t touching his mother’s body he was fine with me undertaking any sort of necessary manual labor. He probably approved of it.

Once we were back at the priestess’s house, and the body had been lifted onto the embalming table, the man finally left. Then Helgird surprised me by telling me to make myself scarce, too.

I blinked.

“But why?” I asked. “You know they’re just—well they’re just being Nords. Not like you,” I added quickly. “The bad ones.”

“Look, boy,” she said while laying out the embalming tools. “There’s something you should’ve learned about me by now. Like the jarl, I serve the people of Windhelm— _all_ the people. The family wants me and me alone to tend the body, then so be it. That’s what I’m here for.”

“But they’re not even here!” I protested. “They wouldn’t even know. And helping you is _my_ job. And _you_ don’t think I’m a filthy gray skin. So what does it matter?”

“It matters,” came the short reply. “Now either go make yourself useful or go cool your heels off elsewhere.”

I chose the latter, and, being seventeen, I made sure to slam the door behind me when I went. I couldn’t resist glaring at every Nord I met as I stomped my way through town. Hillevi Cruel-Sea waved a letter at me as I passed her stall in the marketplace, but I ignored her. The blacksmith’s apprentice called out to me as well.

“I’m not doing deliveries today!” I shouted, startling her. Of course, what I really wanted to say was _I’m not lifting a finger for you_ NORDS _ever again!_ But I didn’t.

It wasn’t until I practically ran into Susanna that I was finally forced to (quite literally) stop.

“Oh,” she said, pausing to fix her hair, which had been mussed from our little collision, “Just the person I wanted to see.”

“Why me?” I snapped, wiping the dirt off the seat of my pants—I’d really been stomping quite fast.

“You can deliver this basket to the palace for me,” she said, handing it to me as though fully expecting me to take it. Which I did, of course.

“To the palace? But why—?” But then I glared, remembering myself. “ _Susanna_. Why do you need _me_ to deliver this for you?”

“Because it’s a long walk from here and I’m lazy? Oh, don’t give me that face. Look, I’ll pay you. I always do, right?”

She pulled a few meager coins from an inside pocket of her blouse and waited patiently for me to hold out my free hand before dumping them there. It was really no more or less than what anyone paid me for odd jobs. I sighed and slipped the coins into my pants pocket.

“Fine,” I said, hefting the basket, which was rather heavy. “Now where does this go again?”

“To the palace. The kitchens, of course.” She gave me a look. “You’ve been to the palace before, right?”

“No.”

“Well don’t go through the main doors. There’s a servants entrance off to the right. Go down the steps a bit and you’ll see it. Give the basket to the head cook.”

So I set off again, this time heading north and towards the tall structure that hovered almost ominously over the entire rest of the city: The Palace of the Kings.

I’d had a chance to settle down by now, my previously hurt and angry feelings finally cooling. Dealing with bigotry was part of life here in Windhelm, and I was learning to live with it for the most part. I suppose someone with a more fiery sense of justice would’ve protested a bit more, but I’d never been the type to put myself forward. _A pushover_ , one of my cousins used to say, _That’s what you are_. Maybe he was right. But pushovers avoid fights. They don’t get caught up in movements and riots. Pushovers are safe, for the most part.

I liked being safe.

To that end, I avoided one or two individuals I’d come to know as I made my way to the palace. One of them was Rolff Stone-Fist, who was known for harassing Dunmer women. As for the men, he was keen to put his fist through their faces, and as I liked my face just the way it was, I made sure to walk around him, just out of sight. The other was Torbjorn Shatter-Shield, who was just coming up from the docks. He was the sort of man who thought himself magnanimous for hiring non-Nords, yet he still treated them like less than animals. He was never in a good mood after speaking to his Argonian dockworkers, so I made sure to avoid him as well.

Once near the palace, the guards stationed there eyed me a bit, but once I moved away from the main gates they paid me no mind. I was a “gray skin” with a basket heading for the servants entrance. They probably saw people like me passing through every day, and we all looked one in the same to them.

The path leading away from the front gates eventually opened up into a fairly sizable courtyard. I had to pause and take in the scene before me, as I certainly hadn’t been expecting anything like it. The place was abuzz with life and activity. A blacksmith and several apprentices hammered away in one corner, while a woodcutter worked at her craft in another. Servants darted to and fro as if each one were on a mission of dire importance—or so it seemed to me, since I hadn’t the faintest clue where _I_ was to go from here.

I wandered towards a garden which, sheltered from the wind and partially encased in glass, was surprisingly thriving. I thought that surely the kitchens would be close by.

“Excuse me,” I said to the old man who was bent over a row of what looked like leeks.

“Yes?” he asked, not looking up.

“I’m looking for the kitchens.”

He pointed vaguely back towards the palace before returning to his task. Not wanting to be a bother, I thanked him before sighing under my breath and heading back towards the palace east wall. There were several entrances here, so I simply picked the one that seemed nearest to where the gardener had been pointing and entered.

If I thought the courtyard had been abuzz with life, the servant hallways were twice so. Once I even nearly collided with someone, she was moving so swiftly.

“Watch where you’re going!” she said, hastily adjusting the huge basket of laundry she was carrying.

“Sorry,” I said, but then I rather lost my train of thought because she was a Dunmer. I honestly hadn’t imagined the jarl of Windhelm would employ dark elves to work inside his palace.

“If you don’t close your gaping mouth I’ll stick a sock in it,” she warned.

My mouth snapped closed.

“Sorry,” I said again, then, before she could disappear, “Do you know where the kitchen is?”

“Down this hallway, third door on your left. Go down the stairs, take a right turn, and it’s at the end of the hallway.”

I watched her go, already forgetting half her instructions. We were at the intersection of several hallways, so I had no idea which she’d been referring to. So I sighed and picked one direction at random. If I got lost, I could always double back.

The number of servants streaming past thinned out the further I went. Eventually, I began to pass guards instead of servants. Several were stationed at doorways that I supposed a person like me wouldn’t be allowed to enter. Which was fine by me; I was just trying to find the kitchens, which I was beginning to suspect didn’t even exist.

The end of the hallway opened up rather abruptly, and I paused, blinking in the sudden bright light. The room before me was immense, with great big windows stretching from floor to ceiling. A huge rug lay along the length of it, upon which an incredibly long table stood. Candles were everywhere, lighting up every nook and cranny. At one end stood two massive doors, and at the other, an immense stone chair at the top of a short series of steps.

Blessed Azura. I was in the throne room.

“You there!” said a rough voice.

I started so violently I almost dropped my basket.

“Yes?” I stammered.

The man who approached me was dressed in full armor and had an axe at his belt. His hand hovered over the handle, eyes beneath his helm narrowing at me. I don’t think I’d ever been so terrified in my life as I was in that moment.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

I tried vainly to find my voice before finally managing: “I’m trying to find the kitchens.”

He stared at me for a moment before relaxing a little, his hand falling back to his side.

“You must be new,” he said, evidently assuming I worked there. “You’ve taken quite the wrong turn. Go back down the hallway you came down and take a right. And tell Griselda,” he added, as I turned to obey, “that I’ll be sure to have a word with her about her slipshod training of new servants.”

I nodded, inwardly begging forgiveness from the poor aforementioned Griselda. But I’d not gone ten feet back down the dark hallway before I yet again—this was clearly becoming the theme for the day—ran smack into another person.

I was in such haste to escape the throne room that the force of the impact sent me sprawling backward, and I’ll just say that the palace of a king is no kinder to one’s backside than the stone streets outside. I landed with a pained grunt, my eyes squeezing shut.

“My apologies,” came the low, steady voice.

I opened my eyes, and looked at the hand that was now outstretched before me. After a second, I took it, allowing the much— _much—_ larger man to pull me back up to my feet.

He was at least a head taller than me. He was blond and bearded, like most Nords, but in the low lighting it was hard to tell what color his eyes were or just exactly how old he was. Older than me for certain, but younger than forty at least. A heavy brown fur cloak framed his shoulders, and he was wearing armor over his fine clothing—no wonder I’d bounced off of him as if he’d been a steel wall.

He released my hand. “You should watch where you’re going, little elf.”

I had no idea what to say in response. He didn’t seem to need or care for one, as he simply put a hand on my shoulder before stepping around me. He paused, though, reaching to pick something up—my basket.

“Ashfire mead,” he said, pulling back the blanket and picking one of the bottles up, examining the label.

 _So that’s what I’ve been carrying_ , I thought, as if it were somehow in any way remotely important.

“Someone knows how to please their jarl.” He replaced the bottle before handing the basket back to me. “These had better be on the table tonight for dinner.”

I nodded, still speechless, and watched as he turned to go.

  
“My king,” said the guard who’d spoken to me earlier, and I could see him bowing slightly even from here.

“Galmar,” said the man, nodding.

I turned and hurried back down the hallway as fast as my feet could carry me.


	3. Chapter 3

“How old do you think he is?” I asked, munching contentedly on a piece of staler-than-usual bread.

“Who?” asked Helgird.

We were outside, behind the temple, standing in the miniscule yard attached to the side of the building. Helgird was hanging up the laundry, and I was ostensibly helping her. I was supposed to be handing her clothes pins, but I kept forgetting.

“The jarl!” I said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

She huffed under her breath. “Just past thirty, I should say. He came home from the Great War… oh, some ten years ago or so. And before that, you know, he was an initiate at High Hrothgar.”

“High Hrothgar!”

I almost choked on my piece of bread in awe.

“Yes, they say he is quite proficient with the Voice. Though you mustn’t believe any of those imperial lies saying he murdered the High King like that. He defeated him fairly, in hand-to-hand combat.”

She held her hand out to me, and I paused in my musings to stare at it, then her, vaguely.

She shook her hand, annoyed. “The pins, boy, the pins!”

I hastily handed her a couple of pins before sitting back down on my tree stump. I had returned from the palace a few hours ago, the bottles of mead safely delivered. I couldn’t stop thinking about my brief time there. I hadn’t even minded Helgird’s lecturing when I got back, on account of me being away for so long she’d had to cart the blood and the entrails off herself. She’d made me wipe the embalming room down from top to bottom as penance, but I didn’t care. All I could think of was the warm, calloused hand that had so briefly held my own.

“There were Dunmer in the castle,” I said, supposing I had better talk of something else, lest I give myself away.

“Oh?”

“I didn’t think they would allow it. I mean, you know. The castle Nords.”

“The castle Nords,” She barked out a little laugh, startling me. “The things you come up with. Well, in the castle there’s only one Nord that matters, and I think you know who that is.”

“Ulfric Stormcloak,” I said, and I imagine my voice must have sounded as dreamy as the image of the man himself I’d conjured up in my head.

When I realized Helgird had gone silent, I blinked and looked at her. She met my eyes, a calculating, thoughtful look on her face.

“Hmph,” she said, finally turning away again to hang up another wet sheet.

“What?” I asked.

“Nothing. Tell me about these other elves.”

I told her about that and more, about the beautiful garden, the courtyard, the immense throne room. Even the kitchens had been overwhelming. I’d gotten lost again on my way out, though unfortunately didn’t run into anymore roaming jarls. Afterward, the rest of the city seemed so dull and lifeless in comparison. I don’t mean in any _real_ sense; the temple of Arkay was actually located in a fairy prosperous section of the city. More in the metaphorical sense, I suppose. It was as if something were just… missing.

A few hours later, the Nord family from earlier returned to entomb their relative. Helgird suggested I run to the market and pick up a few items for her, so I did so without complaint.

It was better this way, I realized. If I stayed out of the way of such people, I wouldn’t have to deal with their bigotry. I thought of the castle, of how everyone seemed to work together so cheerfully. It didn’t occur to me to consider that none of the guards were mer, only the servants, or that there still were no Khajiit or Argonians present.

The scenario with the Nord family repeated itself at least once a month—I don’t mean with the same family (that would be rather tragic for them, but then, I suppose eventually I wouldn’t have had to deal with them anymore—since, you know, they’d all be dead) but with various Nord families around the city. It was usually upper class families, though occasionally a working class family wouldn’t want me anywhere near the burial of their loved one, either. I simply shrugged and made myself scarce. It’s rather surprising, I guess, what you find you can put up with after living with it long enough. It just became a part of the job, and since _I_ knew there was nothing wrong with me, and I knew _Helgird_ knew there was nothing wrong with me, I shrugged it off as ignorance on their part, and a chance to get out of working for me.

It was a good life. My stomach no longer turned at the thought of another embalming, and I became quite good at assisting Helgird. I was 18 soon, and stronger every day; I lifted bodies and coffins with relative ease (so long as I didn’t have to carry them very far) and helped her more and more with her daily tasks. I suppose no mer (excepting the Orsimer, of course, but they were so very different from the rest of us) will ever be as big or strong as a man, especially a Nord—and I perhaps a bit smaller than average—but compared to my elderly benefactress, I had the strength and fortitude of a mammoth. In the meantime, I continued running my odd jobs whenever I had the chance, and had a tidy little sum saved up in a year’s time.

But deep down, in my heart of hearts, I knew that there was something lacking. At one point I had read all of Helgrid’s books; I chaffed at the sudden deficit of knowledge. I wanted to know _more_ , see and hear _more_. I would never get that in Windhelm. But traveling was out of the question; my meager savings might get me to another town like Riften or Whiterun, but then what? More of the same.

The gods, who I still didn’t pray to, though I sometimes found myself thinking about them, wondering if they really did save me that fateful night a year ago—apparently had other plans for me.

I came home one afternoon with a basket full from the marketplace. I was in high spirits, too, because there’d been a traveling circulating library that had shown up and would be here for another month at least.

Helgird was sitting at the kitchen table; she didn’t bother to look up as I entered, as she was apparently engrossed in reading something.

“You’ll never guess what I found!” I said, grinning.

I set the basket on the table near the pantry and began removing and storing the food items.

“Oh, they were out of apples, so—well, they had some, but they were really bruised, so I got plums instead. And radishes! I know you like radishes. I guess I do, too, even if it took me awhile to get used to them. Anyway, look!”

I pulled out one of the two books I’d borrowed and held it up. It was leather bound, and had an embossed image of a knight and a dragon on it.

“Isn’t it grand? It’s a story about a knight and her quest to find her love and rescue him from one of six dragon lords. The librarian said everyone is reading it down south. I’m going to have to force myself to only read a little bit at a time so I don’t finish it too fast.” I laughed at my own silliness, then pulled out the other book. “This one’s just called ‘Cats of Skyrim.’ It’s some sort of reference book, but the images and details are great. I don’t know why I need to know all about the wild cats of Skyrim, but then I thought, why not?”

I chuckled again and lay the book down.

Helgird still had not looked up from her letter.

“Helgird?” I said. “Did you see my book—?”

“I saw them, boy,” she said, finally folding the letter and turning to face me.

She held my eyes for a long time, her expression slightly pinched. I swallowed, suddenly a bit nervous. Was she angry with me? I really didn’t think she’d mind me not getting the apples. Maybe she didn’t approve of the library, but I couldn’t imagine why.

“Casien,” she eventually said, surprisingly me by using my actual name. “I have some news.”

I blinked, that particular proclamation not exactly easing my anxiety. I sank down onto a stool.

“What sort of news?” I asked.

“It’s good news, I suppose. Good for me, and for the temple, and for the people of Windhelm.”

My heart rose up in my chest, getting caught in my throat before sinking down into my stomach.

“But not good for me,” I said.

She smiled, the expression sad. “Always such a clever lad. Aye, you may see it that way at first. But it doesn’t have to be.” She narrowed her eyes, her look penetrating. “I have asked you before, and I don’t expect your answer to have changed, yet I’ll ask you one last time: would you like to truly become my apprentice? Become an initiate of Arkay?”

I swallowed the bad feeling in my stomach and looked down, feeling guilty for the first time for refusing her.

“I’m sorry. I just… Not that I’m not grateful! But I was going to try saving a bit more money, and maybe, in a few years…”

She let my words trail off, letting silence hover in the air between us for a second before nodding.

“As I suspected. Now there’s no shame in it, boy.” She must have noticed my guilty expression. “The life of a priest isn’t for everyone.”

“I’m not even sure if I… if I really believe,” I said.

I didn’t want to offend her, and in all honesty, I’d never broached the topic of faith with her before.

She huffed under her breath. “That part’s less important than you might think. But a life of service has to be its own reward, my boy. And that never did strike me as your type of living.”

I remained silent, a little hurt by the accusation. It made me sound heartless and selfish.

“This letter,” she held it up, “is from my counterpart in Riften. She says she has a girl who wishes to become an initiate. Problem is, she has a couple young fellows helping her already, future priests of Arkay. And knowing my age and situation, she has offered to send this girl up here to Windhelm.” She paused, holding my eyes. “I aim to write her back and accept.”

I blinked back at her, and I know she didn’t take my silence for incomprehension. I looked down at my feet, my fingers clenching into the material of my trousers. I swallowed.

“So I’m to be replaced,” I finally managed.

“Casien.”

Hearing my name on her lips startled me again. I looked up, our eyes meeting.

She sighed. “My dear boy… I am 76 years old. It won’t be long before Arkay comes for me. And when that happens, the people of Windhelm will have no one left to serve them. It’s high time I take on an initiate, a true apprentice. I need to begin training someone who will care for this temple and its people once I’m gone.”

She got up from her seat, and perhaps for the first time I noticed how she grimaced, a briefly pained look on her face as she straightened. She walked over to me, and, the barest hint of a smile on her weathered old face, rested a hand briefly against my cheek.

“What a good child you’ve been. And I’ve fed you and housed you for a year now.” She patted my cheek before lowering her hand. “Even had this letter not come, it’s well time you begin looking for a proper means of supporting yourself. Do you really want to spend the next few years of your life tending to the needs of an old woman, and with no pay at that?”

“Now,” she said, turning away from me to pick up where I had left off, shelving the items from the market. “Have you thought about what you’d like to do with yourself? You’re a little old for an apprenticeship, but a word from me should get your foot in the door, wherever that door might lead.”

“No,” I admitted, back to staring at my shoes. “I always thought—I thought I could stay here until I figured it out.”

“Well, now that that isn’t an option, I suppose it’s high time you give your future some serious thought. The blacksmith, perhaps? I understand Hermir Strong-Heart plans to move on soon.”

I shook my head. What did I know or care about blacksmithing? Especially under the building threat of war, when anything I made might be created to harm or kill another person. I couldn’t live with myself.

“The docks, then. Or perhaps one of the farmsteads. Perhaps Bolfrida might take you on. Your people were farmers in Solstheim, were they not?”

I frowned. “I don’t want to go back to farming. It’s boring, and just… all you do is work, all year, every waking hour. There’s no time for thinking or reading or traveling.”

She snorted under her breath. “Feed and clothe the boy for a year and what ideas he suddenly gets in that head of his! Too good for farming now, are you?”

“No,” I said, blushing, “I don’t mean it like that, Helgird. I just… I want to do something more with my life. I’m just not sure what.”

She finished putting the wrapped bread in the bread box before turning to face me. Her eyes narrowed, a thoughtful look coming to her face.

“Perhaps a job at the castle?” she asked.

Now understand it had been many months—almost a year, really—since I’d first stepped foot (and, consequently, gotten lost) in the Palace of the Kings. Its enchantment over me had long since worn off, yet every time a delivery took me back within its walls, I was once again in awe. The castle, to me, was still a fascinating place, filled with so many different kinds of people. It was a miniature city all unto itself. As for my crush on its grandest inmate, I’d convinced myself I was long since over it. How silly to daydream about such a man. I’d been 18 for some time now and naturally thought myself very wise. My 17 year old self had been a naïve fool, a wide-eyed boy who’d gone starry eyed over a man he barely knew and would likely never see again.

“…Maybe,” I said, not wanting to sound too eager.

She barked out a little laugh, shaking her head.

“The castle it is, then. You know, they’ll make it hard for you, the other Dunmer. That lot at the Corner Club, for instance; they’ve no love for those who help their “oppressors.”

I shrugged. “There are Dunmer at the castle. And Malthyr and the others already say things about me helping you.”

“Oh? And you don’t let it bother you, I suppose?”

“I don’t really care. I have a place to stay and eat and sleep, and—you’ve been good to me. And what did any of them ever do for me, anyway?”

“Careful you don’t turn against your own people, boy. Malthyr and his ilk have plenty of reason to complain. Kindness is hard to come by in Windhelm.”

But not in the castle. I don’t know why I felt this way, but I did. I knew that everyone who worked there had a place to sleep and plenty of food to eat. I knew they were paid for the work they did. I knew Dunmer and Bosmer worked side-by-side with Nords and Bretons and Redguards. I knew they even occasionally had days off because I would see some of them about town, clearly when not on duty.

Maybe I was a fool. But I just wanted— _had_ to believe that there was a place where someone like me could succeed and be happy. And maybe there wouldn’t be much for me to learn or explore at the castle, but at least it would be a start.

So long as I couldn’t stay here anymore, at least.

Helgird went beyond her promise of giving any perspective employees her good word. She literally accompanied me to the castle, her standing in the community easily and quickly getting us an audience with the head gardener, the housekeeper, and the head cook. The housekeeper had no current openings, but the gardener and cook said I might start as soon as possible. As beautiful as the gardens were, I still inwardly curled my lip up at having to crawl through the dirt each day and dig up weeds and bulbs, as I had most of my life back on Solstheim, so I opted for the kitchens.

“Aye, we’ll get him started soon enough,” said the head cook, a portly older man whose intense once over of me was beginning to make me regret agreeing to work here.

“Have him report here tomorrow at six a.m. sharp,” he said, his steely eyes moving to Helgird now. “We’ll find him a place to sleep and a couple of uniforms, but he’ll be put to work right away. Don’t look so glum, boy.” This last addressed to me, of course—honestly, I’d thought turning eighteen would allow me to graduate from the appellation ‘boy,’ but apparently not. “It’s hard work, but it’s good pay. And we don’t let just anyone work here, but if you come with Helgird’s recommendation that’s good enough for me.”

Helgird gave me a sharp look, and I remembered to nod and bow my head respectfully.

“Yes, sir,” I said. “Thank you.”

Imagine thanking a man for hiring you! How quickly I’d come to adapt to Windhelm’s way of doing things—the head cook, of course, was a Nord, as were the head gardener, the housekeeper, and the blacksmith. Even so, the kitchen itself was filled to the brim with workers from all races both human and mer, and the smith even had an Orsimer apprentice. This was the _castle_ after all; I could swallow my pride and offer my new employer the proper amount of deference.

I barely slept an hour that night, I was so excited about my new job. You’d think I’d have been nervous, but there it was. In the early, pre-dawn morning, I said good-bye to Helgird—even gave her a hug, which she pretended to suffer through—and, gathering all my meager possessions, started out for the castle.

“Scullery boy,” said the head cook, whose name was Igor, once I’d stowed my belongings in my new bunk—which turned out to be little more than a pallet, really—and reported for duty. “That’s what you are; that’s where everyone starts. It’s your job to keep the kitchens clean. Scrub the floors, wipe down the countertops, clean out the fireplace. Anyone gives you a task, you see it gets done. _I_ give you a task, you see it gets done before all the others.”

He nodded at a Bosmer girl standing patiently beside him.

“Cylna here’ll show you the ropes. You’ve got questions, put them to her, not me.”

“Don’t let his gruffness bother you,” she said to me, once she’d pulled me aside. “No one here really gets a scolding unless you really and truly deserve one. Here,” she handed me a mop and a bucket. “Fill this up over there. Soap’s next to the faucet. You can start with the floors; I’ll show you how to get a good rhythm so you don’t tire out too fast.”

I haven’t always been a hard worker. I was lazy and full of idle thoughts back on Solstheim and hated the back-breaking farm work I’d inherited from my family. But a year with Helgird had taught me that there was value in trying to do my best for someone or something I genuinely cared about. I may not have had any warm or tender feelings for my new ill-natured employer, but I’d been hired to work at the castle, and _that_ was important to me.

By noon I’d worked harder than I’d ever worked in my life. My back ached from mopping; my wrist burned from the repeated motions of wiping and scrubbing the dirty countertops. Sweat dampened my hair and made me wonder how the entire staff didn’t smell like a crew of field workers by the end of each day.

“You look exhausted,” said Cylna when she joined me for lunch. We kitchen workers, of course, had our lunch around ten a.m. so that we’d have plenty of time to prepare food for the more important folk upstairs as well as some of the higher ranking staff members.

“It’s harder than I thought it would be,” I admitted.

“That’s because you’re _working_ too hard,” said a Dunmer girl.

Her uniform marked her as one of the house servants; there were several already sitting down with us to lunch. She wore a surly expression that didn’t change even after she’d taken a few bites of her sandwich. Like most of the domestics, her hair was pulled back and away from her face. Mine still hung loose as usual, the edges slick with sweat.

“If he worked as hard as you he wouldn’t last the day,” said a young man, a Nord, taking a seat beside her. He tossed me a wink before grabbing a knife and smearing some cheese onto a piece of bread. “They only keep her around on account of her pretty face.”

“Sure isn’t on account of her attitude,” said Cylna, snorting.

The Dunmer girl huffed but didn’t respond.

“I’m Jurgan, by the way,” said the young man. “And that’s Balsa. I guess you already know Cylna.”

I nodded and, after glancing cautiously at the proffered hand he offered me, reached out to shake it.

“Casien,” I said. “Today’s my first day.”

He smiled. “Pleased to meet you, Casien. No offense, but you look like you just cleaned the entire palace from top to bottom.”

“Just so you know,” said Balsa, “There _is_ a middle ground between total indifference and working until your fingertips bleed. Go slower. You don’t get paid more for finishing faster. And Igor will appreciate an eye for detail.”

“That’s true,” said Cylna. “Quality over quantity, he always says. Well, except when Ulfric hosts a massive banquet and we have to stay up all hours of the night catering to his every whim.”

“Ulfric?” I said, a little taken aback at hearing someone refer to the jarl of Windhelm so familiarly.

“Yeah, you know,” grinned Jurgan, “Big guy, sits on the giant throne, likes to wear fur a lot?”

“I know who he is,” I said. I could feel my cheeks warming, and _not_ because I was imagining our king sitting on his throne draped in nothing but furs. “I just—I mean, is it okay to talk about him so… casually?”

“Well he’s not going to _hear_ us, is he?” chortled Cylna.

The other two joined in laughing. I was left a bit flummoxed—did they not honor and respect the man whose home they served in? Outside the castle, people spoke of Ulfric Stormcloak as if he were the savior of Skyrim. He was a war hero, a prophet, a general, a great leader. It was quite the opposite in the Gray Quarter, of course, but that was to be expected. I remembered how Helgird had warned me not to disregard the concerns of my own people. The thought left me feeling more than a little subdued.

Once lunch was over, Cylna and I returned to the kitchens. I thought about what Balsa had said as I carefully wiped the counters after a pair of undercooks finished chopping up some plucked chickens. I took my time, making sure I reached the corners and that my rag remained sufficiently damp. I tucked my hair behind my ears, and when another worker offered me a hair tie, I took it. When I swept or mop, I kept my grip on the broom loose and my body relaxed as I methodically cleaned. I sat down on my heels instead of crouching before the fire as I stoked or replenished it.

We had a free period between lunch and dinner, and once dinner preparations were complete, and the serving staff took our handiwork away from us, it was up to me and a couple of other scullery workers to clean up. I was the last to leave the kitchens, exhausted, drained, and wondering vaguely if I’d really made the right decision. Was this better than apprenticing to a blacksmith, or a gardener, or a farmer? I liked my books and may not have been the biggest fan of Windhelm’s unpredictable weather, but it felt strange to have not seen the sun for more than a few minutes that day.

My pallet was lumpy when I finally lay down for the night. I was too exhausted to read, and besides, I didn’t have a candle—my bed was far from the banked fire. I was cold, as all the heat had been used up when I’d finally gotten my turn for a bath. My blanket was thin—I saw others had additional blankets, pillows, and cloaks, items they’d obviously purchased for themselves. I saw one girl even pulling on a cozy pair of wooly socks. Today was my first day, so I was making due with what I’d been issued.

I had some money saved up, of course. During my free period tomorrow I settled on going to the market and picking out a thick blanket, a few proper hair ties, and several candles. I’d originally planned to visit Helgird and tell her all about my first day, but there’d be no time. I closed my eyes and likely fell asleep with a disgruntled frown on my face: my ‘first day’ certainly hadn’t been at all like I’d envisioned it would be.


	4. Chapter 4

My first day at the castle quickly turned into my first week, then my first month. I fell into life there as if I’d always been a part of it. It probably helped that Igor the Cook kept us running a tight ship down in the kitchens; every day was essentially the same, barring major events upstairs. I can’t say that I was particularly happy spending my days scrubbing and mopping and sweeping, but I wasn’t exactly miserable, either. But I missed Helgird; I missed our quiet evenings together; I missed all the free time I used to have. I missed my books and my wanderings and those quiet nights when I’d lie by the fire in my pallet and think about what the future held in store for me.

I didn’t make friends easily, either. Cylna took me under her wing because she’d been instructed to, but she had her own group of friends. She didn’t purposefully exclude me, of course. But I struggled to fit in. Oh, I ate lunch with the other kitchen workers every day, and everyone was friendly enough during work hours. But during break or on those rare days off, I was generally alone. By the time I finally found the time to tell Helgird about my new job, I was less enthusiastic than I had been that first morning.

“They treat you fairly, don’t they?” she asked, sitting before the fire one evening while the new girl sat in the kitchen, sewing.

“I guess,” I said. “Yes.”

“They pay you well?

“I—Yes.”

“Then why the long face?”

I sighed.

“I don’t know. It’s just… it’s a lot of work. And it’s… _boring_.”

She surprised me then by chuckling.

“What did I tell you, Ullte?” she said, shaking her head.

The girl at the table clearly tried to hide her smile but failed.

“It’s just as you said, Helgird,” she said, primly pulling her needle through the rough cotton garment in her hands. “Though I think you wagered he would last even longer than this before complaining.”

“I’m not complaining!” I said, irritated to learn that they’d _actually placed a wager on me_. “She asked me about it, and I answered!”

“No need to get all riled up,” said Helgird. “Come now, boy; you’re too idealistic. What did you expect it to be like? It’s work! Everybody has to do it.”

“Not the king,” I said grumpily, slouching back in my chair as I crossed my arms over my chest. “His High and Mighty Majesty. And all his rich, fancy friends who come up from the south and make us work longer and harder hours, just to make sure their bellies stay full.”

“Oh ho ho!” cackled Helgird, leaning back as she laughed, “Whatever happened to the little sparkle in his eyes he used to have whenever he mentioned Ulfric Stormcloak’s blessed name! How fickle is the heart!”

“Helgird, please!” I said, blushing red to the tips of my ears and trying to ignore the tittering Ullte. “I never—did you have to tell _her_?”

My replacement learning about my juvenile crush on our jarl was definitely at the top of the list of Most Humiliating Things That Could Ever Possibly Happen to Me.

“Of course I told her,” Helgird said. “She’s always asking about you, curious little thing, wanting to know what your likes and dislikes are, what sort of person you are, that sort of thing. What better to disabuse her of the little notion she was brewing up in her own heart?

Now it was Ullte’s turn to blush red with mortification. Not that I was free from embarrassment myself; now I was stuck in a tiny room with a girl who apparently had a secret (well, not-so-secret anymore) crush on me.

Nords being made of sterner stuff than most, she quickly mastered her own embarrassment and, glancing nervously at me, cleared her throat and said, “I had a thing for the jarl’s general once, back in Riften. I was only a girl, and it didn’t mean much. So,” another furtive, hopeful glance at me, “I don’t think fancying a jarl means you’d not be open to other opportunities.”

“I—” I opened my mouth, not really knowing what to do—I was a wild animal, trapped between a wolf and a cliff. “—I really should be getting back to the castle!” I said, standing so quickly I almost made myself dizzy. “Good-bye, Helgird, I’ll—I’ll see you later!”

Was my retreat dignified? Not in the slightest. But it got me out of there, and that’s what mattered. Blessed Azura! It was the first time I’d ever learned of another person’s interest in me, and the fact that it was coming from a Nord girl was doubly unsettling. Of course, I had sighed rather dramatically myself over the most prominent Nord in the entire city, but I had never really considered _doing_ anything about it. Hatred and distrust between Nords and Dunmer ran rampant throughout the city; it was impossible to imagine a more unlikely match. Then again, Ullte was from Riften. Perhaps, I thought, as the clear, cold air cooled my warming face, folk in Riften were more accepting of such things.

I asked Cylna what she thought about it at lunch the next day, but she only shrugged.

“I’m sure it happens,” she said before stuffing a slice of pear into her mouth.

I blinked. “How do you know?”

“So you really are as naïve as you look. Come on, use your head. Or maybe _not_ your head; use something else. That’s what happens when people start fancying one another. Race and religion and politics don’t matter much when all you can think about is getting someone’s britches down.”

“Whose britches are going down?” asked Jurgan.

He smiled at me as he took a seat across from us.

“Casien just learned about sex today,” said Cylna.

“What--?! No!” I cried, and the incredulous look Jurgan was now giving me made my cheeks feel as if they’d been lit by my own internal fire.

“We’re talking about interspecies romance,” she finally deigned to clarify. “Apparently, a Nord girl has a crush on him.”

“Does she!” Jurgan grinned at me. “Is she pretty?”

“She’s…” I closed my eyes briefly, groaning. “It doesn’t matter what she looks like! I’m not interested.”

Jurgan and Cylna exchanged a look.

“Why?” he asked, “Because she’s a Nord or because she’s a girl?”

I bristled, feeling a little put on the spot. “That’s a little personal, don’t you think?”

“Because she’s a girl,” said Jurgan, nodding at Cylna, who grinned.

I groaned again.

“Can we please talk about something else? _Anything_ else?”

They obliged me, but that didn’t mean they completely forgot the conversation. At least Jurgan eventually made it clear that he hadn’t. That night, he lay his pallet next to mine, and once all the candles had been snuffed out, he slid close to me and asked me in a soft voice if I wanted him to show me a few things.

I did.

It wasn’t the first and only time two forms were seen moving together beneath the blankets. I usually tried to pull my pillow over my head if I happened to hear anything. Now that it was my turn, I was terrified of making too much noise. And Jurgan was very good at what he did. I won’t say it was earth-shattering, but it was better, I imagine, than most people’s first time.

You might think I went completely moon-eyed afterward and fell in love with him, but I didn’t. He was handsome, and funny, and reasonably nice, but I don’t think there was ever meant to be anything special between us. He continued flirting with other people and only visited my pallet a few more nights after that first one. This may not be the case for everyone, but I felt somehow… older afterward. As if I had passed some sort of rite of passage. Ridiculous, of course. I was the exact same person I had always been. But I was eighteen years old, and a fairly good-looking boy had made love to me. That had to mean something.

I suppose that was one way to learn firsthand that Cylna was right. But physical intimacy was one thing; even the animals did it. What about love? Now I’m not saying I lay awake at night pondering the ins and outs of romantic love, but I did wonder that I never saw interspecies couples out in the open. If everyone was doing it, then why weren’t they doing it… well, out in the open? Make it right with Mara, as the old grandmothers like to say. Of course, once I knew to actually look for it, I did begin to see it. There was Bolfrida Brandy-Mug, who had a farm just outside the walls of the city, and her farmworker, a Dunmer named Faryl. Niranye was apparently seeing Oengul War-Hammer of all people. And I did occasionally catch more than a few of my fellow workers, whether upstairs or down, discreetly holding hands or, well, doing quite a bit _more_ than holding hands when they thought no one was looking. Dunmer with Breton, Bosmer with Nord, it was as Cylna had said: when it came down to it, if you cared about someone, the tilt of their ears or the color of their skin mattered less to you than it might to the surrounding populace.

Yet in Windhelm, it _did_ matter to the surrounding populace. Whether any of these unusual couples were actually married I hadn’t the faintest clue. Their romances were whispered rumors and shared secrets, secrets only their enemies would purposefully share. And as for half-blooded children, I had to assume those weren’t even a possibility—I’d certainly never seen any, or at least I didn’t think I had.

Meanwhile, my disenchantment with my position in the castle continued to grow with each passing day. Even being promoted from scullery boy to assistant undercook didn’t really change my feelings on the matter. After all, “assistant undercook” really only stood for “do whatever the undercooks order you to do, and do it quickly, or else you’ll get a scolding.” Some people like Cylna didn’t care about scoldings, but I did. I never liked to bring negative attention to myself. Safety, remember? Call me a coward and a brownnoser if you like, but I liked being safe.

Then came the night that Balsa—the sour-faced Dunmer maid who sometimes ate lunch with us—became ill.

“Food poisoning,” said her friend, even as she held the other girl’s hair so poor Balsa could retch into a bucket near her pallet.

“This won’t do,” said Marla, who was the person in charge of table service for the upstairs folk. “The jarl has a whole _contingent_ of important guests up from the south. Griselda will kill me if we’re a body short!”

“I… I can…” But before she could finish, Balsa turned and heaved into the bucket again. This time, her poor friend wasn’t quick enough with her hair.

Marla turned away from the pair, her eyes quickly scanning the room.

“You!!”

It took me a second to realize she was speaking to me. I’d been kneeling before the fireplace, trying unsuccessfully to mend a pair of torn leather pants. I hated the thought of having to bring them to Ullte, not because I feared facing my apparent admirer, but because I was still jealous of her position in Helgird’s house. I suppose it was petty of me, but there it was.

“…Me?” I finally asked, pointing to myself.

“Igor likes you,” she said, “Says you’re a hard worker and you’re reliable.”

“Smart, too,” said Balsa’s friend, “He can read.”

“And polite as a rich man’s son,” said another maid, barely even looking up from the leather boots she was buffing, “Never speaks a rude word against anybody, and doesn’t curse, neither.”

“Right,” said Marla, nodding as she stood up. “He’ll do. Come on, you,” gesturing at me, “put that away! There’s no time!”

I obediently tossed the pants and needle onto my bunk and went to follow her, not even really noticing when she took my wrist and practically hauled me out of the room.

“…Igor said he _likes_ me?” I finally asked, because that was definitely the most shocking piece of information to come out of this whole situation.

“Here,” said Marla, shoving me into the sewing and washing room. “Find a uniform that fits, then report back to the kitchens. And _hurry_!”

Ten minutes later, and dressed in the crisp blue uniform of the palace serving staff, I entered the kitchens, only instead of heading to my usual station, I was pulled aside by another servant and made to stand with the waiting servers.

“I’m Drifa,” said the tall Nord girl who’d grabbed me. “Marla says you’re my responsibility, so don’t screw this up.” She handed me a little towel. “Put this over your shoulder. It’s just for looks, don’t _ever_ spill anything, _ever_. You’re on beer duty. Keep their cups full, _especially_ the jarl’s. And don’t speak to anyone; if a guest speaks to you, you can smile and you can nod, but don’t look at them and don’t speak to them. If the jarl speaks to you, you should always answer. But if the jarl even notices you that’s because you’ve done something wrong, so the jarl had BETTER not speak to you.”

I’m not ashamed to say I was sweating at this point. It felt as if my entire career here at the castle now hung on whether I could properly serve a few rich people their beer tonight. How on earth was I supposed to keep track of who to talk to and who not to talk to? And I wasn’t to use my towel, but suppose a guest spilled their drink? Was I not to wipe it up? What if they looked at me, or, gods forbid it, actually spoke to me?

I was on the brink of a nervous breakdown by the time Griselda the head housekeeper appeared, clapping her hands to get our attention.

“All right, people,” she said, “Very important business meeting top side. Make the usual good impression; Windhelm is counting on you. Dolan, is that a stain on your uniform? Amara, that bun could be a little neater. Ongard, fix that towel, please.

Finally, she stopped in front of me.

“By all the Nine hold sacred,” she breathed, her eyes widening as she stared. “What is _this_?!”

Now equal parts horrified and humiliated, I glanced down at my borrowed uniform to see if anything were out of sorts. But everything seemed to be in place, even if the shirt was a bit loose and the trousers dragged a little—serving staff uniforms were custom made, and I thought it would be better to find one a little too big rather than too small.

Marla cleared her throat.

“Balsa’s out for the night,” she said, “This is her replacement.”

“If you please, Griselda,” spoke up Drifa, “I’ve put him on beer, so the hair shouldn’t be a problem.”

The hair? Glancing at my new colleagues, I realized I was the only one with loose, fairly messy hair—it was sort of the natural state of my hair, and I confess I never really paid it much mind. But all of the girls had theirs either tied back or up, and the two other male servants had hair short enough to not be a nuisance.

Griselda nodded.

“See he doesn’t go near any of the food,” she said.

Hair falling into the food, I realized, Probably not a good look, and wouldn’t make a very positive impression on the jarl’s guests. Funny how Igor never seemed to care about such things when we were busy preparing that same food. Out of sight, out of mind, apparently.

It was time. The beer was already set out upstairs, waiting for me to tend to it, so I remained empty-handed as we all filed out. Most of the others pushed carts laden with food the kitchen staff had spent house preparing—this had been my off day, so I hadn’t had a hand in preparing it and honestly didn’t know what it was. Roast beef, from the smell of it. So much meat was a rarity; the jarl must have really wanted to make an impression.

I hadn’t really entered the throne room since that first fateful day, when I’d stumbled my way into it. It was just as I’d remembered it, though now animated and full of life. The long table was immense, but the placement of the chairs and the table settings, including strategically located shrines and miniature statues, separated it clearly according to class and level of importance. At the farthest end, closest to the door, sat some of the higher ranking soldiers. These I knew had a regular place at the table.

Towards the middle were some of the more prominent families of Windhelm; these gave the most to the war effort, and indeed gave the most to other institutions about town—including, of course, the Temple of Arkay, which may have had a little something to do with Helgird’s treatment of her wealthiest patrons, bigotry notwithstanding.

The table closest to the throne always held the honored guests of the jarl. In the absence of such guests, he was known to either sit with his soldiers or eat alone in his room. Today, however, he was of course sitting at the head of the table, his faithful man-at-arms, Galmar Stone-fist, who’d once chastised me for wandering where I didn’t belong, sitting at his right hand.

Drifa gave me a shove, and I hurried over to the side table where several large kegs had been carried in earlier. They sat in large bins of snow and ice, which kept them suitably cold. (The hall itself was kept quite comfortably warm by the thick stone walls and roaring fires that surrounded it.) The jarl and his guests must naturally be served first, so I quickly tapped one of the kegs and filled several tankards before loading them onto a tray.

I had carried loaded trays before, generally when handing them off to serving staff, but this was different. Now it felt as though a hundred pairs of eyes were boring into me as I worked, though of course they weren’t. I had been at least a year at the castle thus far, and one thing I’d learned above all else is that nobody really paid attention to servants.

The people sitting in the grandest chairs certainly didn’t seem to notice my presence as I set their tankards before them; it was as if they thought their food and drink arrived via some mystical rather than mundane means.

Believe it or not, I was to serve the guests first and the jarl last; this was something to do with business etiquette. When I set his tankard before him, the jarl immediately reached for it, causing our fingers to briefly brush together.

A few seconds must have passed. It was a moment before I realized he—Ulfric Stormcloak—was looking right at me.

“Yes?” he said, arching one eyebrow.

That’s when I realized I hadn’t moved, was just standing there, blinking and breathing like an idiot, marveling at the fact that he had actually touched me.

Mortification immediately washed over me.

“Nothing, my lord,” I said, quickly averting my eyes and rushing back to the side table with my tray. Drifa caught my eye and gave me a warning look as I passed her. I had already broken one of her rules. Fortunately, Marla was busy supervising the serving of the roast beef.

 _All right_ , I said to myself, as I grabbed a flagon and hurried now towards the middle tables to fill the tankards of the noble families _. I can salvage this._ No one save Drifa had noticed my little slip-up, not even the jarl’s guests, though I hadn’t exactly been paying attention to them. I had best push the incident far from my mind, for I had a job to do, and _oh gods_ , that was the second time Ulfric Stormcloak had ever spoken to me.

I honestly couldn’t wait to retreat to the kitchens, never to return again.

Serving the lower tables kept my mind reasonably preoccupied; they were much easier to attend to, as all I had to do was make sure the flagons never emptied. The diners could pour their drinks themselves. I did eventually have to return to the head table, however, to exchange the empties for fresh tankards of beer. This wasn’t as tedious as you might think, as the beer served mainly as a pallet cleanser for the elite diners. Another server supplied specialty meads, wines, and other drinks. Some of the middle table folk even requested tea, coffee, or warm milk.

The high table had finally commenced discussing business, and I learned as I served them, picking up fragments here and there before having to rush off again, that the guests were all the owners or representatives of major breweries throughout Skyrim, and even beyond—there were two representatives from Hammerfell, and one from High Rock. Each was trying to convince the jarl to allow their company to have exclusive rights in Windhelm. That confused me at first, as I knew for a fact that beverages from places like Honningbrew and Black-Briar Meadery were readily available. But what I realized is that they were each offering a specialty flavor, one that would only be sold in Windhelm, and nowhere else in Skyrim.

“Black-Briar Meadery is the most recognizable, long-standing name in all of Skyrim,” said the smooth-voiced owner, her cat-like smile apparently meant to charm and not terrify. “My dear Ulfric, you would be a fool to pass up this opportunity.”

“Yes, and once they taste it, they’ll wonder why that is,” retorted another owner.

“The exoticism of the name Stros M’Kai is sure to attract attention, my lord,” came another smooth interjection. “Only the cleverest of leaders could see this and capitalize on the advantage.”

“Do they not serve Stros M’Kai rum in Solitude?” said another. “I hardly imagine the leader of the Stormcloaks and _rightful_ High King of Skyrim would wish to share profits with the _false_ High Queen.”

“I’m half-tempted to say ‘no’ to you all,” said the jarl, his low, rumbling voice finally cutting through the self-aggrandizing chatter.

“But, my lord—” began one, but he was unceremoniously cut off.

“Am I the cleverest or the stupidest jarl in all of Skyrim? I can’t tell, despite all your pretty speeches. You wish to flatter me so that you might earn my good graces. But all I want is to profit from your product. My people need employment, and my soldiers need arms and supplies. I brought you here so that you might convince me which of you will earn Windhelm the most money, not so you could ingratiate yourselves to me with false flattery.”

“Ever the straight talker,” said the cold, smiling woman from Black-Briar Meadery. “Very well, Ulfric. Have you made your decision? We certainly wouldn’t wish to waste your time any longer than necessary.”

“I haven’t,” came the reply. “Ask me about steel, about leather, and armor. Those I know. I enjoy a tankard of mead as much as the next man, but I am hardly qualified to pass judgment without educating myself on the matter. As it is, only three of you brought samples.”

“Then surely it should be between those three,” said the woman. She was still smiling, so I assumed she must be one of the three. “The rest have clearly excluded themselves from the competition.”

“Competition is _your_ purview,” returned Ulfric. “Taxes are mine, as are jobs. How am I to decide which of you will deliver both of these more so than the rest.”

He paused to reach for his fresh tankard of beer, and as I was his server, I knew this to be his fourth of the night, yet he showed no signs of inebriation whatsoever. If anything, he looked even sharper now than he did at the beginning of dinner.

“You,” he said—and now for the second time that night I found my eyes locking with my jarl’s.

I froze, my hand holding his empty mug pausing in mid-air.

“Me?” I squeaked, and I do mean squeaked. The sound I made resembled something between that of a mouse and a boy just entering the first stages of manhood.

“Tell me your opinion on the matter,” came the steady reply. “Which of these _fine_ ladies and gentlemen should I invite into my city and give exclusive rights to sell their product?”

 _I don’t know, my lord_ , would have been the proper response. Or perhaps, _It isn’t my place, my lord_. Mara knows why I didn’t answer as I should. Instead, I swallowed, took a good look at the row of confused, expectant faces, their eyes spearing me with cold indifference, and…

“…Why not all of them?” I asked.

The table erupted with laughter, some clearly feigned. Several further down the table paused in their conversation to glance in our direction, as did several of the staff. _This is it_ , I thought. _I’m going to be fired_.

Ulfric held up one hand. The laughter stopped.

“All of them?” he asked, arching his brow at me in the same way he had earlier.

I glanced at the astonished, blinking faces of the business owners. Then I nodded.

“All of them it is,” said the king. He drained his beer then and rose to his feet. “Now I leave you to your dinner. My steward will settle the details with each of you in the morning.”

He paused to look at me as he passed, his heavy hand coming once again to rest on my shoulder, just as it had over a year ago.

“Ashfire mead,” he said, his blue eyes gazing penetratingly into mine. “So I had an expert with me all along.”

He left me then, heading for the doors that led to the war room. Galmar Stone-fist got up to accompany him, the grizzled man narrowing his eyes at me as he passed.

I looked back at the merchants, who were all staring at me in abject shock and—yes, that was definitely fury in more than one upturned face, as well.

“Is he insane?” said one. “To leave the fate of his city in the hands of a _servant_?”

“The man is incorrigible,” huffed another.

“Indeed,” said one woman, “Ulfric Stormcloak taking advice from a so-called _gray-_ skin? Even his _own_ people would have something to say about _that_!”

“Would you feel better about this debacle if the boy were a bloody Nord?” snapped the lone Dunmer merchant.

That was my cue. Now that they’d turned their attention from me to one another, I was able to make my hasty retreat back to my side table. Drifa tried to signal to me, probably wanting to know what on earth had happened. I shook my head; I couldn’t hardly talk at the moment. It took everything I had to keep pouring the beer without my hands shaking too much.

 _Why_ would Ulfric Stormcloak have done such a thing? I was surely no closer to understanding the ways of great people than I’d ever been. I could still feel the brief, heavy weight of his hand on my shoulder as I busied myself about the room, topping off tankards and replacing flagons. Marla’s watchful eyes try to spear me down more than once, but I did my best to avoid her. I didn’t see how it was my fault—the fact that half the people sitting at the jarl’s table had stormed off while the other half were now engaged in bitter debate surely had little to do with _me_. I was just a servant, after all. A nobody.

How I made it through the remainder of the evening, I’ll never know.


	5. Chapter 5

As it turned out, that was not the only time poor Balsa would suffer from apparent food poisoning. In fact, it was only a couple of months later that we all learned it wasn’t food poisoning after all.

“Pregnant!” I exclaimed, pausing in my scrubbing to stare at Cylna in astonishment. “But… _how_?”

“Am I going to have to explain sex to you again, Casien? Don’t look at me like that; I’m only teasing. You’d think you’d be used to it by now. Well, she has a sweetheart, apparently, works down at one of the farms just outside of town.”

I shook my head, returning absently to my dirty pans.

“There’s no way Griselda will let her stay.”

“Oh, she’s already gone. Gone to live with the sweetheart, presumably, though I have trouble picturing Balsa the farming type.”

“Or the mothering type,” I muttered.

“Don’t suppose she has much choice where _that’s_ concerned.”

Maybe it’s wrong of me, but I sometimes feel sorry for girls. I mean, I’m not sure they’d want my pity, but imagine having to worry about becoming pregnant every time you were intimate with a male partner. Of course, at the time I didn’t know about the little sheep bladders a man could tie around his… well. In any case, Balsa and her farmer boyfriend obviously hadn’t been using one. Or maybe they had but it had somehow fallen off. Was that possible? I supposed there were definite advantages to not really having a romantic interest in girls.

“Anyway,” said Cylna, “I hope they hire another mer to replace her. There are already entirely too many Nords on the staff.”

The comment made me a little uncomfortable, though I wasn’t able to articulate why—and probably wouldn’t have even if I could.

“I can’t speak for other mer, but a lot of Dunmer would rather starve than work here,” I said, dumping out the sudsy water and reaching for a drying cloth. “You get called ‘Nord-lover’ or worse; sometimes they won’t even serve you.”

“It’s better than starving though, isn’t it? I’d think even a gray-skin could appreciate that.”

I glanced at her, but I don’t think she even realized what she was saying. To think that the slur had become so ubiquitous in Windhelm that even other mer were using it! It made me feel… I don’t know. I couldn’t put it into words. But I didn’t feel so friendly towards Cylna after that, not that she really even noticed, I’m sure.

Her comment about hiring a mer proved to be fairly fortuitous though, as that afternoon found me resting on my pallet with a book a few hours before the dinner rush began. Most other kitchen workers disappeared outside during their break hour, but I preferred to seek a little peace and quiet whenever I could. It also happened to be my afternoon off, so I was in an unusually good mood.

“Griselda wants to see you,” said Drifa, poking her head into the communal room.

“What for?” I asked, looking up from my book.

Drifa shrugged.

“She’s upstairs in the library. I wouldn’t keep her waiting.”

Upstairs? Kitchen staff generally weren’t allowed upstairs; in truth, we had no real reason to even be there. I bookmarked my page and stood up, pausing to check my uniform to make sure it didn’t have any stains. All annoyance at having my free day interrupted evaporated as I made my way upstairs, curiosity and trepidation dodging my steps. What on earth could the head housekeeper want with _me_?

Of course I got lost along the way. I had to ask for directions twice. The servants who obliged me gave me odd looks, apparently just as confused as I was about my being in this part of the castle. I wondered for the first time about Balsa being employed as a house servant. She was, to my knowledge, the only Dunmer who was. The realization hadn’t even really hit me until that moment, either.

 When I entered the library, Griselda was speaking to Marla, who was listening attentively. Once her mistress finished, she turned and barked out a few orders to the two servants who were waiting behind her; together, the three then left the room, leaving me alone with Griselda.

She looked at me for a long time—what felt like a long time, anyway, but was probably only a few seconds—her eyes narrowed and her lips pressing together.

Finally, she let out a little sigh and gestured towards a chair.

“Casien Yedlin. Will you please take a seat?”

I glanced at the plush brown velvet chair and hesitated. I don’t think my rear end had ever touched something so luxurious in all my life—but I’d been given an order, so I sat.

She sat down opposite me, taking a moment to rearrange her skirts before addressing me.

“One evening some few weeks ago you replaced Balsa during dinner. It seems you made an impression.”

Me? An impression? This was not exactly good news, as remaining uninteresting and unnoticed were both traits that I cultivated as much as possible. There was safety in anonymity after all.

“Oh,” I said, not quite sure what else I was supposed to say.

“As it turns out, Balsa is now no longer employed here, and we are in need of her replacement. I have been… that is, your name—not that it was precisely known, of course—but _you_ were put forward as a potential replacement.”

Wait—someone had put _my_ name forward? Who, Drifa? But we barely even spoke to one another. Igor? I couldn’t imagine _he_ was looking out for my best interests. Marla?

“…Oh,” I said again, because I still wasn’t sure what she wanted me to say. She hadn’t exactly made me any sort of offer.

“Would you be interested in such a position?” she asked.

Still not exactly an offer. And I still didn’t know how to answer. _Did_ I want to work upstairs? Was it any different from the kitchens? The one time I’d had to stand in for Balsa had been an unmitigated disaster, at least in my mind. In the kitchens, I never had to interact let alone speak to anyone important—unless you consider Igor the Cook important.

“Maybe?” I said, and there’s just something about giving an honest answer that seems to grate on other people’s nerves. At least that’s the reason I imagined Griselda looked suddenly annoyed.

“It’s rather a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ question, Mr. Yedlin,” she said, her voice a little terse. “Perhaps I should rephrase it. _Are_ you interested in the position?”

Remaining anonymous was one thing. But spending the rest of my days scrubbing pots and mopping floors was another. And in that moment, one certainly did seem far more important than the other.

“Yes,” I said, clearing my throat as I suddenly seemed to have gotten a frog in it. “I would.”

She pursed her lips again, but then seemed to consciously settle her features.

“Very well. You will start tonight. Come with me now, and I’ll show you where you can place your things. From there, I’ll assign you to one of the assistant housekeepers. They’ll speak to you about your new schedule.”

A few minutes later, I was introduced to Owyyn, a middle-aged Redguard man who worked just under Griselda. His brows arched slightly when we were introduced, but if he felt my ascension from kitchen worker to house servant inappropriate, he kept it to himself.

“You’ll be responsible for tending the fireplace in every room on this floor,” he said, as he began to show me around.

“Tending the fireplace—was that what Balsa’s job was?”

“No, she was an associate housekeeper—a laundry worker. The young man who previously held your current position has been promoted to hers.”

“Oh.”

In one of the guest rooms he showed me how to light a proper fire. I listened with seeming diligence, but in the back of my mind I couldn’t help thinking that if there was one thing I had to be naturally good at, it was lighting a fire. Not that I could ever dare to let anyone see me do it. The jarl’s guests might sometimes be from the south or the west or even from outside Skyrim itself. But if word got around to some of Windhelm’s more prominent residents that Ulfric Stormcloak employed a mage—a _Dunmer_ mage—well, I didn’t imagine it would be very good for the Stormcloak image to say the least. That and I’d probably lose my job faster than you can say “Praise be to Mighty Talos.”

If I thought working upstairs might earn me a reprieve from having to get up before dawn I was sadly mistaken. Once again, my job required me to be awake far before anyone else. Guests expected to wake to a roaring fire, and it was my duty to see that they did.

“How many rooms are there?” I asked, trying to calculate in my head how long it would take to tend to each one.

“Twenty-two.”

I blinked.

“How am I to service twenty-two fireplaces before everyone even wakes up? That’s impossible!”

He looked at me then as if I were the basest imbecile he had ever lain eyes on.

“It is rare that all twenty-two rooms are occupied,” he explained in the same monotone voice. “In fact, I do not believe that it has _ever_ occurred. At present, for instance, there are six that are in need of service. We also keep at least two spare rooms ready and waiting, in case a guest should show up unexpectedly. As for the rest, they need only be given a cursory daily cleaning as well as a deeper, once a week cleaning. As the fireplaces are not being used, those do not concern you.”

I had to pause to get that straight. So my entire job consisted of lighting and tending _six_ … no, _eight_ fireplaces? And sure, that number could apparently rise, but at present it was a mere eight. _Eight_.

“So… I only have to light eight fires tomorrow morning?” I asked, just to be sure.

He sighed, closing his eyes briefly and probably wondering why Griselda had hired a simpleton.

“Yes,” he said. “But you must do more than light them. You must make sure they are well supplied with wood, and you must clean them out each day, too. Indeed, they are never to go out so long as the room remains occupied. Additionally, not a speck of ash is to settle on the mantle. And if I should ever hear of a guest complaining of the heat or the cold…”

“That won’t happen,” I said quickly. I straightened then, putting on my most professional expression. “Griselda won’t regret hiring me. I promise to do everything I can to keep you and the jarl’s guests as happy as possible.”

After working in the castle for about a year now I’d really become an expert brownnoser. Owyyn at least seemed satisfied with my response.

I had a few hours off before dinnertime, which was to be my first venture into fireplace tending—there were set times during the day when I was to go into each room (after knocking, of course) and build up the fires. Aside from the early morning, which is when I’d do the most work—bringing in new wood, cleaning out the ash, and so on—I was to come in at lunch and again around dinnertime. Otherwise, my time was my own. And believe it or not, I was actually being paid _more_.

Giddy with my good fortune, I moved my things as quickly as possible before venturing outside the castle. I had to tell Helgird the news, especially after our conversation from a while back when she and Ullte had teased me about hating my job. True, working upstairs might not afford me the intellectual pursuits I longed for, but it was better than slaving away in the kitchens from dawn till dusk, seven days a week (excepting the oh so occasional free day each worker was allowed).

I found Helgird tending to a body in the embalming room, Ullte assisting her.

“Guess what?!” I said, bursting into the room.

Ullte dropped the liver she’d been holding and swore under her breath. It made an ugly squelching sound as it smacked the cold stone floor. Helgird look from the liver, to Ullte, to me, then paused to put her hands on her hips.

“Sorry,” I said meekly.

Ullte gave me a dark look before bending to carefully pick up the liver and place it in the container with the other organs that were to be dumped and buried.

“Anyway,” I continued, “You’ll never guess what happened to me.”

“Well I don’t suppose you ran all this way to tell me about a new book you’re reading,” said Helgird as she began sucking out the bodily juices.

I laughed. “No, of course not. I mean,” I cleared my throat, “That was only the one time, and I still maintain that that was the best book ever written. I mean, who would think to make the hero turn out to be the villain all along? Who could see that coming?!”

“He’s like a baby and a Greybeard all rolled into one,” muttered Ullte.

Well, so much for having a crush on me.

Helgird chuckled.

“Go on, then,” she said, nodding at me, “Tell us your big news, boy.”

I straightened and tried not to look too proud.

“I’ve been promoted. No more kitchens for me. I’m upstairs now, tending to the fireplaces for the jarl’s guests. Just eight of them, Helgird. _Eight._ Three times a day, and that’s it. _And_ I get a pay raise.”

“They’ll really pay people for anything over there, won’t they?” said Ullte, frowning.

I grinned. “Beats taking care of dead people, you have to admit.”

She sniffed. “This is a calling. You wouldn’t understand.”

She was right. I didn’t. I still sometimes thought about what the gods had done for me—saved me from certain death that long, fateful night. But the thought of devoting my life to them was… well, surely they didn’t desire that of me, did they? Else why place such ambitions and thoughts in my head? I’d never be happy loitering away in a shrine all day for the rest of my life. It boggled the mind that anyone even could.

Helgird ignored our bickering.

“That’s a good move,” she said approvingly. “There now, you see? I told you all that hard work would pay off. You were never going to be in the kitchens forever.”

“I guess so,” I said, flopping down on the stone bench that hugged one side of the embalming room. “I don’t even know how I really got it, to be honest. Griselda said someone recommended me.

“Well that’ll be your employer, Igor, is it? You’ve done well under him no doubt, done all he asked of you.”

I nodded.

“I guess, I mean—I have, but then why would he recommend me for another position? If I was so good in the kitchens, wouldn’t he be loath to lose me?”

“Even speaks like a bloody Greybeard,” muttered Ullte, wiping her messy hands on her apron.

“Stop that muttering, girl, it isn’t polite. What does it matter who recommended you and why?” This directed at me again, of course. “You’re better off now, and who knows where you’ll go from here.”

She was right. Who knew? Maybe one day I’d stand where Owyyn was, or even Griselda herself. The thought, not surprisingly, didn’t exactly light a fire in my belly. Picturing myself the same age as either of those two, still working hard, slaving away for people who thought themselves better than myself for no more reason than that they had more coin than I did—not to mention my additional inherited “flaw” of being a “gray-skin”—well, it wasn’t exactly an overwhelmingly comfortable thought.

After bidding Helgird and Ullte good-bye, I decided to stop by the Candlehearth to treat myself for my new promotion. It felt like a very grown-up thing to do, and I felt quite proud of myself as I entered the inn, pausing to knock the mud and snow from the bottom of my shoes.

“…Can I help you?” asked Elda Early-Dawn after I’d been standing there for at least five minutes. It was a very busy time of the day, though, and there were quite a few patrons milling about.

“Yes,” I said, suddenly nervous—I’d never done this before, gone to a pub that is and ordered spirits. I swallowed. “I’d like to order something to drink.”

“What would you like?”

Oh—well, this was going to be easier than I thought! Comforted, I slid onto a bar stool and let my eyes pass over the chalk list of offerings. Not all Nords can read, by the way, but most Dunmer can. What that says about the way they tend to treat us here in Windhelm I’m not sure, but there it is.

My eyes widened when I came across the group of “select” brews. So this was the product of my advice to Ulfric! Windhelm really was selling a variety of specialty beers and spirits.

I grinned. “I’ll have a bottle of the Black-Briar Select,” I said, thinking of the woman with the creepy cat-like smile. I couldn’t really remember the names or faces of any of the others, so Black-Briar Meadery it was.

“All right,” said Elda, “That’ll be ten gold coins.”

“…TEN GOLD COINS?!”

I gaped at her, my jaw probably literally dropping. Did people actually _pay_ such prices? For beer?

“I don’t have that kind of money!” I finally continued, outrage giving way to shame, as several people had now turned to look at me.

Elda rolled her eyes. “No, of course you don’t. None of you ever does.”

More shame boiling just beneath the surface of my skin, causing heat to prickle there.

“I’ll just have a regular bottle then,” I said, my voice a bit weaker now. My celebratory afternoon wasn’t really turning out the way I meant it to.

“Three silver pieces,” said Elda.

I nodded and dug out the precious coins from the coin pouch tucked into my coat. Three silver pieces was nearly two weeks’ wages worth, but I was too embarrassed to say ‘no’ at this point.

I took my bottle and decided to go upstairs since no one up there had been witness to my embarrassing attempt to purchase high-priced spirits. I miraculously found a seat in the corner and did my best to sit back and enjoy my beer.

This was my first time as a customer at Candlehearth Hall. I’d come here occasionally to make deliveries or deliver messages, but that was it. It was filled to the brim with mostly Nords, of course, though there may have been a Breton or an Imperial or two—I can’t always tell the difference. There were mer, too, a few Bosmer; I spotted Niranye from the markets, and a trio of Orsimer mercenaries who were clearly very, very drunk and having the time of their lives in one corner of the room.

But I was the only Dunmer. The others were probably all up at the Corner Club. Well, one of the bards was a Dunmer, but she probably wasn’t from here. She likely didn’t realize she was currently playing her heart out for people who thought she was no better than the dogs they threw their table scraps to. Now not all Nords are like that, of course, but I’d spotted Rolff Stone-Fist and a few of his friends, so it was definitely true tonight.

Susanna smiled at me when she passed my table, and Niranye noticed me as well, nodding when our eyes met. I thought about going to say ‘hi,’ but she was sitting with a group of other women and I didn’t wish to interrupt them. No one else seemed to care to acknowledge my existence. I began to suspect I was lucky Elda had served me at all.

The incident with the beer was probably coloring my mood, but my evening felt suddenly soured. I finished the beer and got up to leave, having to push my way through burlier, hairier men. A least one of them turned and shouted something at me, but I knew better than to respond. I let myself out the door and trotted down the steps, careful not to slip on the ice.

Perhaps working at the castle had caused me to forget just how difficult it could be to navigate the rest of Windhelm. At the castle, I ate lunch or dinner with people of all different races, and no one seemed to give it a second thought. I often spent my days off with Helgird, or sometimes with a book or two, sometimes under a tree in the castle’s public courtyard if the weather were warm enough. Occasionally I went out with some of the others to do some shopping or just to pass the time. It was rare that a shopkeeper would make a comment about the “bloody gray-skins ruining the city” when I was the only Dunmer amidst a group of Nords, Redguards, and Bosmer.

Dispirited, I decided to return home. It was time to tend to the fireplaces anyway. Might as well celebrate my new job by actually doing it.

“Why the long face?” asked Cylna when I passed her in the gardens. She was pulling carrots, probably for a soup tomorrow.

“It’s nothing,” I said, shrugging and shoving my hands into my pockets.

She paused, sitting back on her heels.

“Heard about your promotion to upstairs. Figured you’d be happier about it.”

“It’s not really a _promotion_ ,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“You get paid more for working less. All the upstairs folk do. I call _that_ a promotion.”

Fair enough.

“Well I’d better head up there,” I said lamely. “I start tonight.”

“Sure. Have fun.”

So there went all the friends I’d made after working a year in the kitchens, I thought glumly to myself as I entered the castle through one of the many servants’ entrances. It hadn’t occurred to me that Cylna or any of the others would be envious of my good fortune. Then again, I hadn’t realized how much my work load was to lighten when I’d originally accepted the position.

I made my way to the service closet Owyyn had shown me earlier and retrieved the bucket and supplies I’d need to tend the fireplaces. I knocked at the first guest room, counted to five as instructed, and knocked again, slightly harder. This time I counted to ten, and when no one answered, I let myself into the room.

It was empty, of course, the occupant or occupants likely having gone down to dinner. I couldn’t help being curious at the contents of the room—a rich fur cloak thrown over the side of the bed, a pair of shining leather riding boots tossed haphazardly onto the floor. There was a heavy trunk, too, an intricate design carved into the wood, expensive things tumbling out of it. But I reined in my nosiness and set myself to the task of building up the fire.

It was… well, it wasn’t _easy_ , that’s for certain. In Balsa’s absence—or rather, her replacement’s absence, I suppose—the fire had died down until it was nothing but mostly embers. I would have to rekindle the logs. I struck the flint against the steel, again and again and again; sometimes I’d get a spark, sometimes not. When I did, nothing could seem to induce it to jump from the flint to the log. Finally, after fifteen minutes or so of fruitless striking, I managed to get the log to ignite. I wiped the back of my hand against my brow and picked up my bucket, rising to my feet. Seven more to go.

They were all in a similar state; twice more I struggled with the flint and steel. Over half an hour had passed, and I’d only seen to three rooms. Dinner would be over soon. The thought of failing my first day on the job dumped a lump of stones into my belly. It wasn’t exactly the impression I was hoping to make.

So I cheated. Really, it was stupid to be wasting all this time beating two pieces of rocks together when I could easily light the fire myself. And since no one was here to stop me, I did just that: I cupped my hands beneath the bottom log and willed the little flame into being.

I smiled when it appeared. It danced merrily between my palms, as if it were so happy to be free again after all these months. Or had it been even more than a year since I’d chanced to bring it forth? Whatever the case, it had been too long. The warmth was almost intoxicating. I had to force myself to coax the flame onto the log before slapping my palms together and snuffing the fire out.

There. Done in less than a minute. At this rate I’d be Owyyn’s star worker.

Four rooms to go. I finished the remaining three rooms in less than ten minutes. By the time I entered the second empty room, I was feeling quite pleased with myself. What I’d thought as surely the easiest job in the world had turned out to be even easier. Of course, I’d have to watch myself whenever the rooms were occupied, especially in the mornings. But I figured, even then most would be asleep, and I’d have my back to them anyway. I need only make a show of striking the flint and steel together a couple of times before reigniting the fire the easy way. No one would ever be the wiser.

I set my bucket down before the nearly dying fire and knelt before the mantle.

“Hello, uselessly burning fireplace,” I muttered, “How nice to be so rich you can burn up all this wood, even when no one’s using it.”

I chuckled to myself and cupped my hands beneath the bottom log, absently singing a lullaby under my breath, as if I were tending to my little cousins again and not a soon-to-be cheerful little fire. The thought made me momentarily sad, but I did my best to put it out of my head. My aunt had made her decision, and that was how it had come to be. I would probably never see them again.

I picked up my bucket, turned around—and froze.

“You need not stop on my account,” said the man sitting in the back of the room.

It took me a moment to realize what he was referring to. I’d stopped singing, of course, as soon as I knew I wasn’t the only one in the room.

“Sorry,” I said, even though I hadn’t technically done anything wrong. “I thought the room was empty.”

“It usually is,” came the reply. The man leaned back in his chair, stretching and crossing one boot over the other. “But I sometimes come here when I wish to be alone. Call it the privileges and burdens of being king, perhaps.”

Oh Sweet and Blessed Azura. It was Ulfric Stormcloak.

“What was that you were singing?” he asked.

“A lullaby,” I said, once I’d rediscovered the use of my tongue. “It’s—I used to sing it to my cousins. It’s silly.”

“Mm. I liked it. You have a fine voice.”

My heart hammered in my chest.

“Thank you,” I managed.

He sighed.

“Why do you look as if I might turn into a werewolf and eat you for dinner? I apologize for startling you; it wasn’t my intention. But I felt it would have been wrong to not speak and reveal my presence.”

I blinked at him. “Why?”

“I fear that if you do not know, it doesn’t bear explaining. Well? _Do_ you think I’m going to turn into a werewolf and eat you up?”

I couldn’t resist the little smile I felt spreading onto my face.

“No,” I said, before quickly amending, “No, my lord.”

“Come closer, then. I would come to you, but I fear I’d startle you again, and you’d go running off like a wild young roebuck.”

I obliged him, stepping further into the shadows, which was an advantage to both of us, as I could now more clearly see him as well. His gaze was thoughtful as he looked up at me. He was as handsome as ever, but he looked tired, as if he’d been brooding over something. He had come here to get away from something or other, after all, so I supposed that made sense.

“So,” he said, his low voice rumbling in the darkness, “Griselda did as promised and offered you the position.”

I gaped.

“How did you—?” But I bit my tongue—too late, of course—because it seemed a rude thing to ask a king.

He arched an eyebrow. “How did I…?”

“Know about me,” I finished lamely. “I mean, about my job. About me taking it. The position, that is.”

“Ah. Griselda comes to me with these little problems. I listen and pretend I am interested in the little goings on within my household. But this time I happened to think of the young man who so cleverly came to my rescue at dinner.”

I tried so very hard not to goggle at him. So the High King of Skyrim—after living in Windhelm for two years now, I’d taken to calling him that, too, just like everyone else here—not only knew who I was, but remembered me well enough to recommend me for a household position? What on earth had I done to earn such favor from the gods?

“You’ve gone still and silent again. ‘He thinks the beast will have him for dinner after all.’” He sighed, stretching his legs again. “I suppose I keep you from your duties.”

“No, my lord,” I stammered. “I mean—is that from _Jjorn Great-foot and the Troll of Winterhill_?!”

I couldn’t believe it. The jarl of Windhelm had just recited a line from one of my favorite epic poems.

He smiled.

“You are fond of poetry.”

“I—well, yes, though Helgird would say I’m fond of anything with words on it. And Cylna, she works downstairs, she says I read too much. That it isn’t natural.”

“I would hardly call it so,” he said. “Perhaps she disparages it because she herself finds little pleasure in it.”

“Oh,” I said, feeling bad about speaking ill of Cylna before the king, but the king had passed judgment, and who was I to disagree. “Probably.”

“Well, little roebuck. I suppose I had better go before Griselda finds us and scolds us both.”

He rose to his feet.

“Thank you for indulging me. Perhaps, if you find me here again, you’ll be kind enough to keep my whereabouts hidden from Galmar and the others.” His mouth twitched into a near smile, and I wondered if he would lay his hand on my shoulder again as he passed me, but he didn’t. “Until next time.”

I watched him cross the room and leave, the heavy wooden door shutting behind him. Then I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.

He had come here, so he said, to escape the attention of others—essentially, to be alone. That was something I could relate to, though our lives must be infinitesimally different. I had bounced between admiring and envying him and the rest of his court this past year or so, yet it had never occurred to me how heavy the weight of his decisions must weigh on him. And to think we were at war, too, or soon to be if rumors were correct. No wonder he needed time to get away from it all.

I made my way back down the hallway and into the servants’ area to the empty the ash pail and stow my supplies in the storage closet. And it didn’t occur to me to wonder if he had seen me use magic until I was on my knees, scrubbing the ash pail down before laying it out on the drying rack.

I sat back, breathless fear washing over me. But he hadn’t said a thing—no, he must not have seen.

I didn’t sleep well that night. I was in a new bed, and now shared a small room with three other servants, two of whom snored. But that wasn’t what kept me up. If the jarl had seen me cast magic… perhaps he was toying with me, like a cat with a mouse. But then I thought of his sharp blue eyes and his warm, amused smile, and the thought trickled from my brain like water through a sieve. My bedcoverings felt too warm, and I confess certain parts of me felt even warmer than others.

 _He’s the king_ , I reminded myself sharply. And I was a lowly servant, a _gray-skin_. I was an idiot and a fool if I _ever_ let my imagination trick me into believing otherwise.

Yet when I did finally fall asleep that night, my dreams were of a tall, handsome man with blue eyes and a yellow beard and hair. And they were not unpleasant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pssst! is... is anyone reading this? (๑•﹏•)


	6. Chapter 6

One thing I wish I had known when I was younger is how little control you have over what people think of you.

It didn’t take long for the facts behind my “promotion,” as Cylna had called it, to make the rounds, both upstairs and downstairs.

“You’re fucking him,” said Jurgan. “C’mon, you can tell us.”

“Well we all know he has it bad for Nord men,” said Cylna primly.

Jurgan broke off a piece of his sandwich and tossed it at her head.

“I’m not,” I said, feeling my face grow hot. “Not that it’s anyone’s business.”

“So the jarl recommended you because you’re just _such_ a good worker,” said Drifa, arching an eyebrow before rolling her eyes. “I guess the rest of us should stand in awe of your magnificence.”

“I guess that’s why none of _us_ were recommended,” said Cylna. “Despite the fact that some of us have been working here for years.”

“I’ve got that beat,” said Jurgan. “I was literally born here. My mother was a seamstress; Father worked for Igor back when he was about forty pounds lighter.”

“What do you guys want from me?” I asked, irritated. They were being too unfair. “Was I supposed to refuse the position? I didn’t even know the jarl knew who I was!”

“Sure, sure,” said Jurgan, smiling, but I could tell he was just as upset as the others.

“Look, you don’t have to act so snooty about it,” said Colline, one of the scullery workers. “It’s not the _worst_ way to get ahead around here.”

“What’s he like in bed? Better than me?” asked Jurgan, and that’s about when I decided I’d had enough.

“Mephala take you all!” I snapped, standing and shoving the rest of my lunch into my bag. As I turned around to leave, I heard Cylna ask, “What’s Mephala?”

“Dunmer god, I think,” said Jurgan.

“Oh.”

They snorted and laughed a little, and to this day I don’t know if it was my dramatics they were laughing at or the fact that my people had their own pantheon. But I guess it didn’t really matter. I can’t say that I had ever become truly close to anyone here, but it still hurt to know they thought such things about me. Did the jarl know how much damage he had done with his simple, thoughtless recommendation? Probably not. And I still remained mystified over how, let alone why, he would remember me at all. Because I had amused him over dinner one evening? It was more than a little infuriating.

Of course, I recollected, my hand pausing on the banister as I slowed my ascent upstairs—he had remembered me at the dinner that night, too. _Ashfire mead_ , he’d said. How could I have forgotten it?

Regardless, it wasn’t my fault. It wasn’t my fault that Balsa had gotten sick that night and so Marla chose _me_ to replace her. It wasn’t my fault that the jarl had asked me to intervene in his bizarre little business dinner. It wasn’t my fault that I’d evidently made such an impression that when Griselda had brought the open position to his attention he had, apparently, thought of me. _Me_. Casien Yedlin, an overall useless dreamer who read too much and sometimes felt a little sadder than he liked to let on.

I finished my lunch from the confines of my bunk and vowed to do the same tomorrow and the next day, and every day afterward. None of my fellow bunkmates were here, so I assumed they all ate lunch elsewhere. So be it. I didn’t require friends and never had. Besides, what sort of “friends” questioned the manner in which a colleague had received a promotion? Was I _not_ hard working, polite, and reliable? Jurgan was late for his shift nearly every other day. Cylna was lazy and didn’t seem to care _how_ often Igor berated her shoddy work. Drifa was known to go into town sometimes twice a week and drink herself silly with her friends. She’d return to the castle late at night, laughing and shouting at the top of her lungs.

I did none of those things. I was timely and responsible. I did what people asked of me. All I asked was to be left alone and not harassed. So much for that.

It had been a full week since Ulfric Stormcloak had startled me from my duties. He had indicated he might come back, should the need strike him. After a few days, though, I stopped glancing anxiously at the shadows every time I entered the spare room. By now the number of rooms I had to service had moved up to ten: the jarl of Riften’s son was in town, and he’d brought the standard contingent of fellow nobles and business people with him.

I’d also reverted to rekindling the fires the old-fashioned way. The thought that the jarl might have seen me use magic still haunted me, though logic dictated that he obviously hadn’t since I still had a job here. Of course, this was only required in the early morning, when most folk were asleep, but I decided to remain cautious, just in case. I won’t say I grew particularly proficient with the flint and steel, but I could manage.

In the afternoons, I replenished the logs and stoked the fire until it became lively once more. I didn’t even have to bring the logs in myself; they were neatly stacked to the side of each fireplace, and that stack was replenished at the beginning of every week by someone other than me. I suppose I could see how a less diligent worker could easily slip up; one furious important guest complaining of the inhospitable cold in their cushy room could affect the fate of a nation, or so it had been impressed upon me. But it continued to be a not particularly demanding job, and I could easily understand my former friends’ envy, even if their accusations were rather cruel and baseless.

I was in the second empty guest room, poking listlessly at the fire, when I was once again startled from my so-called work.

“No lullaby today,” said the now familiar low voice.

I dropped the poker and turned on my heels, blinking out at the figure sitting in the shadows.

“No, my lord,” I managed to say, once I’d found my voice again. “Sorry.”

I’m not entirely sure why I apologized for not being caught singing. I suppose all sorts of strange things tend to flow off the tip of one’s tongue when you find yourself being addressed by one of, if not _the_ , most powerful men in Skyrim.

He smiled, and my bitter heart, soured by the meanness of my colleagues, wondered if he was laughing at me.

“Come,” he said, “Sit with me. Take a break from your duties.”

It occurred to me that he likely had no real knowledge of what my duties really were, else he wouldn’t have assumed I needed a “break” from such light work. Still, I wasn’t about to disobey the king, so I dutifully got to my feet and came towards him, seating myself carefully in the chair farthest from his own.

He watched me, making a noise under his breath, the sound a cross between a huff and a sigh.

“At ease, little roebuck. I promise again to refrain from eating you.” He stroked his chin while watching me, fingertips brushing over the short hairs of his beard. “And how have you enjoyed working here?”

I swallowed. “Do you mean upstairs? Or in the castle?”

He seemed surprised to have his own question met with another question, but then he laughed, albeit softly.

“Either, I suppose,” he said, still smiling.

I don’t know why, but I had the feeling, watching him now, that he didn’t get the chance to laugh very often.

“Well,” I said, thinking, “It’s about the same for both, I guess. I like it. I like earning a wage and saving money. Though I wish I had a better place to save it; the lock box they gave us seems as if it could be easily broken into.”

“A reasonable concern,” he said. “Though I am not aware of any past serious thefts occurring within these walls.”

That made sense; the security here, once you got past certain areas, was pretty tight. Guards were posted everywhere, even before the hallway leading to the downstairs servants’ living quarters. I remembered being silently impressed by their presence the first time I’d ventured here.

“I guess so,” I said after a moment, “But it still makes me nervous. My life savings are in that box.”

“There are other things of value though, are there not? Or are you one to place such emphasis on coin?”

Coin keeps my belly full and a roof over my head, I wanted to say, but I didn’t.

“No,” I admitted instead, “I suppose there are my books. But I shouldn’t like to have to start from scratch again, just the same.”

“A fair response. And I well know the necessity of coin.” He sighed, his eyes momentarily closing as he rested his head against the back of the chair. “I suspect the things I must do for it would make my father turn over in his tomb.”

“…Surely not, my lord,” I replied, unsure how—or even if—I was supposed to respond to that.

“You need not flatter me, little roebuck. My father would never have demeaned himself by pandering to a useless whelp from Riften.”

“…Do you mean the jarl’s son?” I asked, intrigued despite myself.

“The very same. He comes here, begging for a trade deal between our two cities. His mother knows the strategic importance of her city. She knows I cannot refuse him. Yet how am I to keep our soldiers properly armed and my people happy if I let Riften have a hand in rewriting our tax laws?”

The conversation had gone beyond my simple understanding of Skyrim politics, so I remained silent. But even I could tell that what he needed most right now was someone to just listen. So, I listened.

“Meanwhile the surrounding towns beg us for our protection,” he continued. “‘If you are truly the High King of Skyrim, you will supply us with the means to defend ourselves,’ they say. And they are not wrong. But I do not have the men!”

He was silent for a moment, then: “Galmar says I am too weak. I bend too much before lesser men and women. But he is a hypocrite, for he well knows _why_ I must abase myself in such a manner. ‘You cannot protect every man, woman, and child between here and the River Hjaal,’ he says. But what good is a High King if he cannot protect his people? If they cannot rely on him in their hour of need?”

“ _I_ think you’re a good king,” I finally said, and I must confess the words rather tumbled out of my mouth before I could stop them.

He seemed to shake himself from his melancholy, his blue eyes alighting on me.

“Do you?” he asked, one corner of his mouth twitching upward.

“Yes,” I said, speaking a bit fast to cover my embarrassment. “So does everybody else. I mean, here at the castle. And outside the castle. Helgird says you are a good king, that you take care of the people of Windhelm.”

“Helgird.” He gave me a curious look. “The old priestess of Arkay. You mentioned her before. You know her?”

“I was her apprentice for over a year.” But then guilt forced me to amend myself. “Well, more like her assistant than her apprentice. She has a real apprentice now. A proper one.”

“Yet the gloom on your face tells me you are not entirely pleased with this new arrangement.”

“It isn’t like that,” I said lamely. “Helgird was right. She needed a real apprentice, someone to take over when she… well, it makes sense.”

“And you had no interest in being a priest.”

“I mean I like the thought of helping people. But I don’t think I could do it, spending the rest of my life in that one small place, tending to the needs of others. Never going anywhere or learning anything new. And,” I added, hearing the frown in my voice, “I have a feeling half the city would revolt if a Dunmer were to become the new priest of Arkay.”

“I should not think that would matter. Any soul may serve the gods, be they man or mer.”

I was amazed that he should be so ignorant about the people of his own city. I thought, too, of the Argonians and the Khajiit, or my own people squatting in squalor in the Gray Quarter, and felt suddenly ashamed that I had lavished him with such praise only a moment ago.

“I suppose,” I said carefully.

I didn’t wish to contradict him, but it was hard to ignore his apparent ignorance. A man seemingly so concerned with the welfare of his people ought to at least be cognizant of the rampant bigotry infecting his own city.

I could feel him studying my face. I tried not to blush.

“Something has upset you,” he finally said.

I looked down at my knees, dirty from the soot I’d been kneeling in for the past hour or so. I clasped my equally dirty hands in my lap.  I wanted to tell him, yet I couldn’t. He was _the_ _king_.

“Come,” he continued, “I’ve told you my problems. It is only fair that you return the courtesy.”

“They aren’t really _my_ problems,” I said carefully. I could feel the words on the tip of my tongue, so ready to spill out. “They’re the problems of everyone who looks like me, and even those who don’t.”

He gave me a quizzical look.

“Those who look like you?”

“Dunmer,” I said.

My eyes met his, and I’m rather proud to say I didn’t flinch as our gazes held. It wasn’t just that he was handsome and I thought about him a little too much when I went to bed at night sometimes. It was that he was a king, a very powerful king, and I was hardly used to staring a king in the face and telling him he was wrong.

“I see.” He sat back, his hand going to absently stroke his short beard again. “You speak of the Gray Quarter, and those who live and work there.”

“Yes,” I said, though that wasn’t entirely it, of course. I had never lived nor worked in that part of the city, yet I well knew what it was to bear the brunt of a Nord’s hateful ignorance.

He narrowed his eyes.

“Tell me,” he said.

So I did. At least, to the best of my abilities, and never forgetting to whom I was addressing myself. To some degree I ended up telling him a truncated version of my life story: how life had been hard in Solstheim so we had come here; how inhospitable the city was to us, how even our own people had refused to help us. How once my aunt and uncle abandoned me, I struggled to find work. How even when I did, I was still insulted and discriminated against, simply because of what I was.

“I know you come here to get away from politics,” I said when I had finished, and he still hadn’t said a word. “I didn’t mean to…”

“You need not apologize.”

I nodded, looking down at my hands again.

He was silent again for a very long time, and his face failed to betray what he might be thinking. I sat quietly, half-wondering if I had been dismissed. But I felt it would be rude to stand without his permission, so I remained seated.

Finally, he spoke.

“I am aware of the… _conflict_ … that exists between our two peoples. I am sorry that some in this city have made things so difficult for you and others like you.”

I had gleaned enough about him from these two conversations thus far to know that he did not speak in platitudes. Yet I couldn’t tell in that moment if he were truly surprised by my story or simply unhappy about having it placed before him.

“But I am afraid that for now my sorrow is all I have to offer,” he continued, his fingers now drumming against the side of the chair. “The very ones who would insult you and your people are the ones who most help maintain our army—I can no more risk upsetting them than I could the gods, for without their support, in the gods’ hands is where we would be. ” He sighed, the sound very heavy. “War is coming, little roebuck. The elves and their imperial dogs would have my head, and then they’d bleed this country dry to prop up their own. Already they execute our people for the smallest of crimes. Would you like to hear the latest report? It was handed to me by Galmar just this morning. A woman in Solitude, murdered for wearing a symbol of Talos beneath her shirt; another in Rorikstead for allegedly not showing a contingent of Dominion swine _the proper respect_. And in Markath, an entire family slaughtered for harboring anti-imperial tracts.

“So you see… I can spare very little for those in the Gray Quarter at present.” His eyes met mine again. “No doubt you wish to retract your earlier compliments.”

Did I? He spoke of defending his people, yet were the Dunmer who’d lived in this city for generations now not also his people? Still… my people were not being dragged out into the streets and executed, not being wholesale slaughtered for who they worshipped. As far as I knew, all races in Windhelm were free to worship whatever gods they so chose.

“…I don’t know,” I said after a moment, and I don’t think I’d ever spoken more truly before in my life. I studied my hands in my lap, chewing the inside of my cheek before continuing. “I’m glad I don’t have to make decisions like that: who I should help, and who I shouldn’t.” I shook my head. “I don’t think I could. Compared to a king, I’m… I’m next to nothing. I don’t pretend to even know what that’s like. So… I guess I can’t really judge you for the things you feel you have to do.”

Some ambassador I had turned out to be for my people! The thought made me miserable, but it was unfair, I thought, to expect so much from myself. Who was I to try and convince a king of anything? I was just a servant who’d twice been in the wrong place at the wrong time—or I suppose the right place at the right time, depending on how you look at it.

I wasn’t aware that he had gotten to his feet—he was a large man, but he could move as stealthily as a sabercat when he wished—until he was standing before me. I half-looked up, but started when I felt his fingertips on my chin, lifting my gaze all the way back up to his.

“You are not nothing, Casien Yedlin.” He narrowed his eyes, his hand releasing my chin. “ _You_ are the reason I fight. Never forget that, for I cannot.”

I blinked, not fully understanding what he was saying. Me? He fought for _me_? A lowly servant who came from nothing? But no—me and all those like me, servants, merchants, artists, soldiers, farmers—his people, the people of Windhelm, of Riften, of Solitude. The people of Skyrim.

A sad smile seemed to twitch at one corner of his mouth then.

“I should thank you for listening to me again. Surely you must grow weary of my complaints.” He sighed. “And no doubt Jorleif will have a new list of complaints to lay at my feet.” He flashed another weary smile at me. “Until next time.”

I remained seated for some time, processing what I’d just learned, yet scarcely able to believe what had just happened. For the second time I’d had a fairly lengthy and unexpected conversation with _the_ _king_. And this time, it was almost as if he’d been waiting for me

Of course, it wasn’t until he was long gone before I realized: he had said my name.

Ulfric Stormcloak knew my name.

Logic dictated that he had learned it from Griselda. Yet for whatever reason, he had remembered it. I was young still, and couldn’t truly discern his intentions, though it would be unfair to blame that on my youth. What interest could such a powerful man have in someone like me? Did he truly, simply need someone to talk to—someone to listen, someone who wouldn’t in turn demand things from him that he couldn’t deliver?

Whatever the case may be, the words “Until next time” filled me with equal parts anticipation and fear. Surely no good could come from being so keenly noticed by such a powerful man.

Yet I couldn’t, in my heart of hearts, admit that I was altogether disappointed.


	7. Chapter 7

My run-ins with Ulfric were sporadic at first.

The anticipation of seeing him again got me through the dull drudgery of each day. Not only did I genuinely look forward to conversing with him again, but I also spent most of my time alone now. I ate breakfast, lunch, and dinner alone; I even visited Helgird less and less—I didn’t really belong there anymore, and it was right that Ullte should assume the place in the old priestess’s heart that I had somehow been lucky enough to once fill.

Usually by the time the king did appear I had stopped looking for him. But the lengths between his appearances soon grew shorter and shorter, and eventually he was there nearly every day.

I might find him sitting in his usual chair, his boots propped up, his head leaning against the back of the chair. Once I found him fast asleep and couldn’t resist smiling when he berated me the next day for not waking him. Occasionally I found him standing by the window, looking out at his city below. He was most preoccupied on those days, his brooding so heavy that he often couldn’t seem to bring himself to unburden himself to me.

He _needed_ to huff and puff about Imperials, and taxes, and the self-serving antics of local nobles; he needed a place to say all the things he wanted to say but couldn’t, and he needed someone to actually listen to him say it. He continued to consider himself a poor king, which I at first found rather perplexing, considering he had gone to such great lengths to make himself High King of all Skyrim. But gradually I came to understand him, what sort of man he was and why he did the things he did. Above all else, Ulfric Stormcloak believed that his people desperately needed him, that he alone had chosen to stand when no one else would. And he would lay down his life for them in a heartbeat if it meant securing their freedom from those who would oppress them.

But he was not a politician, or so he claimed. He hated the deal-making, the diplomacy, the wheedling for money that I suspect those born to the task actually relish. He was a soldier, a general, and he felt far more at home on the battlefield than he did on the throne. At least, I believe _he_ believed this to true. He certainly needed to say it aloud, as if declaring it aloud to me brought him temporary relief from his frustrations.

“Do you ever wish you had stayed with the Greybeards on High Hrothgar?” I asked him one gloomy, cold afternoon.

I had become more used to his presence, and found myself addressing him almost familiarly more and more. He didn’t seem to mind it.

“Am I more priest than king, you mean?” He snorted softly at the thought. “Every man would believe himself to be so. But I do not think I may be a fair judge of my own character.”

“Why not?” I traced a few doodles into the frosted windows—Dinella, who was responsible for cleaning the windows on this floor, would kill me if she saw me.

I drew a little bear and placed a crown on his head. I could feel him watching me, and smiled.

“Because every good man and woman hopes that they are the best that they can be, yet fears they are the worst. It is the nature of humankind—and of mer, I suspect.”

I shrugged and sat back against the windowsill.

“I don’t think we’re so different from you. But I can’t say I ever worry about whether I’m a good person or a bad one. I suppose if I were bad, I would know it.”

He chuckled, the sound muffled as he turned away from me.

“You could not be a bad person unless you tried, little roebuck,” he said, perhaps a little too warmly than I deserved. “Perhaps not even _if_ you tried.”

“You don’t know me,” I said, a little miffed at being dismissed from the path of evil so swiftly. “I could have all sorts of awful thoughts in my head.”

“Very awful indeed,” he said, and there was something about the way he said it that made me almost blush. I gazed outside at the gray city below me.

“Yet you do not even complain about your duties here,” he continued, clasping his hands behind his back and absently pacing through the room. “Sometimes I see the anger in your eyes, or the sadness in the set of your mouth, but you do not voice it. I wonder now why that is.”

“I shouldn’t,” I said, watching him now as he paused to lean against the fireplace, his gaze distracted by the flames. “My problems are… petty compared to yours.” I sighed. “Besides, it wouldn’t solve anything.”

“Yet this is not a place for solving problems but for airing them.”

But I remained steadfastly silent.

“Tell me of that which pleases you then,” he continued, when I refused to play along. “Your likes and dislikes, your hobbies, your loves. Tell me of your lover, or your friends.”

“I don’t have a lover,” I said, resisting the urge to ask, _Do you?_ “Or any friends,” I added, probably a little more self-pityingly than I intended.

“And why is that?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. There wasn’t really anyone my age on the farm growing up. I went to school for a few years, but… I guess I’m just not very good at it. Making friends.”

“You are not friendly with your fellow workers?”

I grimaced. “More like they’re not friendly with me. No specifics,” I said quickly, when he arched an eyebrow at me. “I don’t want you to fire them or anything.”

He actually threw back his head and laughed.

“I don’t believe I have the authority,” he eventually said, still chuckling. “That’s Griselda’s job.” He paused, clearly feigning thoughtfulness. “Unless you wish me to tell Griselda to fire them.”

I scoffed and grabbed a nearby pillow from a chair and threw it at him. He caught it, laughing again.

 _Casien, you’re a fool_ , you say. _A complete idiot_. Like I said, I was nineteen, and poor, and when I wasn’t thinking very highly of myself for being better read and more learned than those around me, I was instead thinking altogether too lowly of myself. I didn’t know why he came here every day, except perhaps that he needed someone to talk to. And who, really, is there for a king to talk to? A king must always appear strong, always act with decisive intent. So he used me, and I allowed myself to be used because—because I liked talking to him, and I liked looking at him, but most of all, I simply liked being around him.

Some days he had very little to complain of—or rather, he wasn’t in the mood for it, I suppose. He knew of my love of tales of daring-do, and consented to telling me stories of the Nord gods, or of great kings and queens and storied adventurers. There was a theme to each of them: Nords are proud and fearless, forever willing to stand up for what they believe in. They will protect the innocent and defeat their oppressors by whatever means necessary.

Sometimes he would insist that I return the favor and share some of the tales from my own land.

“You won’t like them,” I said, the first time he asked.

“Why not?”

He was lying on the bed—his boots luckily sitting on the floor nearby—with one large arm resting over his forehead, his eyes closed. He hadn’t said a word that day about taxes or nobles or war. That was usually when I suspected things were very, very bad.

“Because our stories are all about people outsmarting the gods, or their king, or… well, they’re not very Nord-like, I guess.”

“I would not anticipate them being as such. They are Dunmer, after all. Like you.”

Yes, quite. I didn’t wish to annoy him with a tale of trickery, yet I also felt it would be unwise to upset him when he clearly felt unwell. Not that he would ever admit to suffering something so mundane as a stress headache, and I suspected that when he was before Galmar and his men, his face remained utterly neutral, never hinting at the pulsing pain banging about just behind his eyes.

“All right,” I finally agreed.

I settled down on the rug before the fireplace, crossing my legs.

“One of my favorites is called The Robber King.”

“The Robber King?”

“Yes. See? Not very noble. I did try to warn you.”

“You’re not getting out of this. Don’t make me order you to tell me a story.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Fine, fine. It goes like this: There was once a farmer who had a daughter, who was very clever. Now she didn’t wish to be married, but her father wished her to be wed, so she agreed. One day a rich suitor appeared who made an offer, and her father accepted.”

“Without consulting his daughter? Fool of a man.”

“It really isn’t polite to interrupt the middle of a story.”

“What farmer marries his child off so carelessly? Are they playing at nobility?”

“Just listen. The daughter was anxious because she didn’t know anything about her future husband, not even where he lived—only that he was very rich, and that was enough to satisfy her father.”

“Of course it was.”

“So one day she asked a fox to show her the way to the suitor’s home. It was deep in the woods, and would take many days to get there. She filled her pockets with peas and used them to mark her way through the forest so that she might have a way to find her way back. Finally, the fox led her to a beautiful but dark and empty manor, so immense it almost resembled a castle. An old servant woman spied her and told her to hide herself quickly, for the suitor and his men were returning home soon. When they arrived, they had with them a young woman whom they had captured. They also were laden down with riches, which they had obviously stolen. _So this is where your wealth comes from_ , thought the farmer’s daughter. The suitor and his men killed the innocent girl and attempted to cut off her finger to get at her gold ring; it flew off, however, and landed in the farmer’s daughter’s lap.

“That is rather bloody for a Dunmer tale.”

“This is the first Dunmer tale you’ve ever heard.”

“Fair enough. Continue.”

“When the men tried to look for the ring, the old servant woman called out that they would have better luck finding it in the morning, when they could see better. They agreed and soon fell asleep, for the old woman had drugged their mead. In the morning, the farmer’s daughter escaped. She was able to find her way back home, for the peas had sprouted into shoots and led her on her way.

“A month later, her wedding day arrived. It was a grand affair; everyone in the village turned out to celebrate. The suitor and his friends arrived, and the pair were married. The farmer’s daughter then declared that she had a story to tell about her new husband. She told the listening villagers of her experience, and at the end of it, produced the finger and the gold ring. Now the family of the missing girl happened to be in attendance, and when they learned of this, they set upon the robbers; soon, the rest of the village joined them. Once the groom was dead, the farmer’s daughter inherited all of his riches, and lived happily for the rest of her days.”

“…You’re very quiet,” I said after a while, when the tale’s conclusion elicited seemingly no response.

“I am thinking about the fox,” he finally said.

I blinked. “The fox?”

“Why did it care one way or the other what happened to the girl? Why would it agree to lead her to her murderous suitor?”

“Well, in some tales the fox is actually the Lady Azura. The goddess’s heart was moved by the girl’s plight, so she agreed to help her.”

“I thought as much. It is a tale to honor the gods then—remain in their good graces, and they may help you when you need it most.”

I hadn’t ever really thought of it as such. Mostly I admired the cunning of the farmer’s daughter, how she finagled herself to become financially independent without endangering her own life.

“I suppose so,” I finally allowed. “But I imagine she could have found him eventually. And even if she didn’t, she would have found another way to outsmart him.”

He chuckled.

“I’ve ruined your story for you. My apologies. You needn’t feel distressed at having shared it; indeed, I liked it very much. Tell me another, if you like.”

Sometimes we were both tired of speaking and instead taught one another games. He showed me the card games soldiers play to while away the time; it turns out they were quite similar to the games farmers play at the end of each work day. Once he showed me a strategy game involving a wooden board and lots of little carved out figurines. I wasn’t very good at it at first, but I got better the more we played it, and I enjoyed the challenge.

This was my new normal, and I’m not ashamed to say I cherished it. Ulfric Stormcloak of all people was now the only person I regularly spent time with—and that only for an hour or so each day, sometimes every other day if he had business to attend to (which he often did). I think, too, that I remained one of the only, if not _the_ only, persons who knew of this near-daily ritual of his. His advisors surely didn’t know. Griselda may have known, but I couldn’t be sure. It _was_ odd that no other servants ever interrupted us, and it was always around the same time of day: towards the tail end of lunch. It quickly became my favorite part of the day, but I don’t think I can really be blamed for it.

Then again, some might criticize me for having the ear of a king and ultimately doing so very little with it. We did have a few more discussions about the state of the Gray Quarter, or the Argonians living on the docks, or the Khajiit squatting just outside the city walls. He seemed sympathetic to their problems, but perhaps he was merely humoring me. Any instances of abuse were to be reported to his steward, where they would be dealt with on a case-by-case basis. This, he insisted, was the best that could be done for now.

Because his initial predictions, unsurprisingly, proved to be right: war was coming. It was the dead of winter, so any attempts at marching an army south or west would have been foolhardy. But come spring, I knew that I would finally see the Stormcloaks prepare for battle, and with the High King himself no doubt at their head.

I was brooding on this more than a little troubling thought as I made my way through the Gray Quarter one dreary Morning Star evening. It was rather late, as I had already seen to my rooms during dinnertime. I was in something of a foul mood, because not only had Ulfric not been in “our” room today, but I had gotten yelled at by a southerner who said I’d left the grate open after lunchtime. Evidently, she had a little dog she’d brought with her, and she feared the animal getting too near the roaring fire. My pride took quite the beating while I endured her censure, and I only half-feared her informing Griselda of my uncharacteristic neglect. Her room had been the last to tend to before the two guest rooms, and you can guess in what direction my eager thoughts had turned. I felt very much the fool, and I’m sure it showed on my face.

So there I was, missing a man who probably spared not a single thought for me when we didn’t both happen to be hiding in the same guest room. I felt mired in guilt and self-hatred. I was wasting my time, imagining that I shared some sort of friendship with a man who was so far above me in life that I may as well have been an ant beneath his boot. I wasn’t about to request a transfer and hence give up our secret little meetings. But I was determined to steer my mind in other directions tonight, and this led me outside of the castle one very, very cold Sundas evening.

It was too late to visit Helgird, and besides, I wasn’t interested in pleasant conversation, nor in the probing little questions she was sure to put to me. I had never returned to Candlehearth Hall after my ill-fated first attempt to act the part of a regular patron there. So I turned my footsteps towards the Gray Quarter, and towards the very beginnings of the unexpected chain of events that had led me to where I was now: The Corner Club.

The cozy warmth welcomed me as I pushed in the outer door. The scene was so different from the Candlehearth, if only because it was filled to the brim with so many once familiar gray and green bodies. While most Dunmer in Windhelm, I’ve noticed, always have an air of bitterness about them, the crowd tonight was jovial and lively. People laughed, argued, even danced, as there was a little band of minstrels set up in one corner for the evening.

_Careful you don’t turn against your own people, boy._

Helgird’s words of warning echoed in my head, and I realized—I hadn’t so much as turned against them as I had turned my back on them. Upon first glance, I didn’t know a single soul in the room. There were no castle workers here, though I certainly wasn’t the only Dunmer working there.

Suddenly chagrined, I made my way through the crowded room as self-effacingly as possible before finally arriving at the bar.

“Well if it isn’t the little orphan boy come home to roost,” said Malthyr Elenil.

“I’m surprised you remember me, Malthyr,” I said, wincing inwardly, as I’d been hoping he wouldn’t.

“What? Not remember the boy whose parents abandoned him on our doorstep two years ago? It was the talk of the neighborhood for weeks, at least. We were all taking bets that first morning on how soon you would die.”

“They weren’t my parents,” I said, though probably not loud enough to be heard over the sound of the crowd.

“Look, Suvi!” he cried, “It’s the little orphan, all grown up!”

Suvaris Atheron turned on her stool and looked over in our direction, her eyebrows raising.

“So he managed to survive after all,” she said.

Malthyr grinned. “A real credit to his race. No one knows how to scrape the bottom of the barrel like the Dunmer, eh?”

“You have a rather _low_ opinion of us, don’t you, Malthyr?” she said.

“Is that little Casien?” said another man, this time off to my right. “It is!”

“Hello, Aval,” I said.

He was Suvaris’ brother and ran a little meat market-slash-pawn shop in the open market. When I worked for Helgird I occasionally ran little jobs for him, delivering messages and such. He would even occasionally have me do his shopping for him.

“Fancy meeting you here,” he returned. “Tired of rubbing elbows with those fancy folk up at the castle?”

“Up at the castle!” cried Malthyr. “What’s a Dunmer boy got to do with the castle?”

“He works there,” said Aval. “Heard from the old priestess herself. Well, not precisely her; but someone who spoke to her told me as much.”

“Is that true, boy?” asked Suvaris. “Do you _really_ work at the Palace of the Kings?”

“Yes,” I said, feeling my stomach sink a little.

“There now, you see?” she said, turning to Malthyr, “I’m no longer the biggest ‘sell-out’ you know. So you can stop overcharging me for drinks, you old goat.”

“Who works at the castle?” asked another man, the owner of one of the general goods shops in the Gray Quarter, I think.

“This one here,” said another.

“Very pretty, isn’t he?” said a woman. “I suppose they must have _standards_ over there.”

They all laughed, and though they hadn’t truly said anything malicious, I had the distinct feeling they were laughing at me rather than with me. And, well, there was the fact that I wasn’t laughing at all. I turned to Malthyr instead.

“Can I have a drink, please?” I asked.

“I see the Nords teach their servants manners up at the castle,” he said, getting another good laugh from some of the others. “What’ll you have?”

I ordered a cheap bottle of beer, the price nothing compared to the outrageous prices at Candlehearth Hall. I found a spot near the very end of the bar and sat down, trying to keep myself as inconspicuous as possible. But I needn’t have bothered. Once my fellow Dunmer were through teasing me, they clearly wanted nothing else to do with me. And who could blame them? I was an outsider in more ways than one; I hadn’t been born here, and almost as soon as I arrived I managed to get myself employed to a Nord. I’d never made any effort to get to know the denizens of the Gray Quarter, not any more than any other town folk. I’d never felt any sort of connection to them, nor had I sought it out. I also very likely earned more coin than most of the people here, even the older ones who had been toiling away for dozens of years. Even when they _could_ get employment, other races in Windhelm often paid them less. Indeed, my clean, neatly-pressed, and relatively new shirt and trousers stood out from the clothing worn by most of the other patrons. I was a rather handsome sore thumb, but a sore thumb nonetheless.

“Feeling sorry for yourself, are you?” asked Malthyr, sidling up as he refilled another patron’s order.

“No,” I said, though he could probably see the truth of it on my face.

“Why don’t you spare yourself the indignity and hurry back to that fancy castle of yours. I doubt you’ll find a sympathetic ear in the room, so there’s no use torturing yourself like this.”

It sounded almost compassionate, though I could tell from the sneer in his voice that he enjoyed taunting me on some level.

“Why is it so wrong that I’ve managed to make a life for myself?” I finally snapped, even though I pretty much knew my righteous indignation would fall on deaf ears.

He smirked. “Oh ho ho, little spitfire, are you? Well, little spitfire, go back to that cushy life of yours if you’re so proud of it. Pretending you’re better than everyone else won’t win you any friends here.”

I’d never been good at making friends anyway, I wanted to say. But what was the point? My gloomy mood had only fallen further now.

“I’m not some traitor just because I work for a Nord,” I said, gritting my teeth.

I don’t know why I was being so stubborn. I should have just left—I shouldn’t have even bothered coming in, in all honesty.

He seemed surprised by that.

“No one said you are,” he said. “There’s just something inherently despicable about a Nord-lover—working for the people who oppress us?” He leaned over and spat at the ground in disgust. “I’d rather die.”

“I almost _did_ die,” I shot back. “But do you know who saved me? A Nord.”

He shook his head.

“A Nord-lover _and_ an apologist. Go on home, boy. I can certainly say with definitive surety that you’re not wanted here.”

I didn’t even bother downing the rest of my beer. I simply shot him a foul look before sliding off my stool and shouldering my way back towards the entrance. People shot me annoyed looks when I elbowed them aside but didn’t otherwise speak to me. _My_ people, were they? I’d never felt more like an outsider in my life, not even when I’d first come to Skyrim.

Outside again, I pulled my fur-lined cloak tightly around my chest, marveling at how much I took for granted these days. Such a cloak would have cost me several months’ worth of pitiful delivery and odd jobs money two years ago; now I went to the market and purchased such things without a second’s thought. Compared to many of the folk who frequented the Candlehearth Inn I was still a poor man. Nevertheless, I had come a long way, and it made me almost sick to realize how complacent I had become.

I made my way through the dark and frozen streets, pulling my fuzzy hood over my head to protect my ears and eyes from the cold winds. I’d forgotten how dark the Gray Quarter could be. There are very few street lamps, and very often the street workers who light the oil lamps don’t even bother to come down here if the weather’s too foul—as it was tonight.

 _Malthyr was right_ , I thought, as I gritted my teeth and made my lonely way home. _I should have stayed at the castle._

No beggars in the streets tonight. If they weren’t huddled some place warm they were already dead from the cold. Street workers even failed to deploy enough salt in this part of town, and I found myself trudging through snow, soiling the boots I’d spent a good portion of my wages on last month. It didn’t seem possible, but my mood managed to sour even more.

The lights of the Candlehearth Inn greeted me as I began to reach the exit, but I skirted the main entrance to the Gray Quarter, in too foul a mood to want to run into anyone. Still deep in dark thought, I rounded another corner and pulled what I suppose you might call a classic Casien at this point: I ran right into someone.

The man cursed and turned around, even as I stumbled back and managed a muffled apology.

“What’s that, little street rat?” he snarled, and I looked up, astonished by the vehemence in his voice.

Sweet Azura’s tits. It was Rolff Stone-Fist.

“Nothing,” I stammered. “Sorry.”

I tried to discreetly back away, but another man caught me by the shoulder and stopped me cold.

“Dirty gray-skin,” he said, pushing my hood back. “I knew it. Could smell ‘im even afore I saw ‘im.”

“Probably off to deliver a message to his imperial overlords,” said Rolff, and if anyone smelled, it was him. I could smell the liquor from his breath even from here.

“Well, elf?” sneered the first man, pushing me back against the stone wall. “Have you got any secret messages on ya? Gonna betray the king like all your kind?”

“No,” I said, resisting the urge to rub my shoulder. “I’m just trying to get home.”

“Home?” said another, “Ain’t you going the wrong way then? Home’s t’other way, gray-skin, back with the rest of your kind. Only a filthy spy would be out on a night like tonight.”

“I’m not a spy!” I said, then for some reason I was foolish enough to add: “I work for the jarl. I’m a servant.”

“A gray-skin working for the jarl!” one of them said, spitting on the street. “Likely story.”

“Search through his clothes,” said Rolff, leering. “We’ll find that message and turn ‘im in to the jarl. _He’ll_ know what to do with him.”

“Leave me alone!” I said, panic nipping at the back of my throat now. I tried to back away, but I was still pressed back against the stone wall. There was nowhere to run.

“Grab him!” said one man, and another lunged at me. I slapped his hand away on instinct, then everything briefly went white, and pain exploded on the right side of my face.

I blinked back at them, unsteady on my feet now and unsure which of them had backhanded me.

“This one’s got some fire in him,” said Rolff, unconsciously mimicking Malthyr’s earlier words. “Guess that means we’ve got to teach him a lesson.”

He wasn’t wrong. There _was_ a fire in me, ignited by fear and anger and burning brighter with every second. It wasn’t unlike the warmth I sometimes cradled in my palms—only a thousand times brighter, and a thousand times hotter.

“Don’t,” I pleaded, but my begging seemed to only spur them on.

Again, the one man lunged for me, and this time he caught me. Another grabbed my cloak and tried to rip it off. I felt another grab at my pants, pulling and grabbing, dipping into my pocket and feeling things he had no business feeling.

“Stop!” I cried, struggling in vain, for they were more numerous and far stronger than I—and all the while, the white-hot fire built and built within me.

“Stop struggling and it won’t be so bad,” said another, his foul breath in my ear.

The fire exploded.

It arced from my hands, white-hot and sparking like lightning, burning the hands of those touching me. I heard the men scream in pain. Still the fire came. It sizzled through me, dancing from my hands to my feet, all over my body, a wave of fury and warmth that was almost comforting in its chaotic eruption. The men were still screaming, some rolling on the ground in pain—others lay still and dark, smoke rising from their bodies and the remnants of their clothes.

I took one look at them, half of them on the ground, the other backing away from me in abject fear—and ran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Casien's story is a mild reworking of the Brothers' Grimm tale, "The Robber Bridegroom" ;)


	8. Chapter 8

My race home was a blur.

To this day, I can’t quite recall it, only that I was terrified, more terrified than I had ever been in my life. I remember slipping in the servants’ yard a bit, ice having frozen over in places. I don’t remember if I passed anyone or not, but there’s no way the hallways and common rooms were completely empty, not at this time of the night. Upstairs I passed the room I shared with three other servants; at least one, a Breton named Theodore, was in bed every day by nine o’clock, and he was sure to be there now. Instead I made my way to the second guest room, closing the door behind me and going to kneel—collapse, really—before the fireplace I had lit only a few hours earlier.

I don’t know how long I was there—more than a few minutes; possibly as long as an hour. At first I just stared at my shaking hands. Nothing like that had _ever_ happened, no matter how angry or frightened I’d been in the past. I was certain I’d killed some of those men. The sight of the black, smoking bodies filled my head, and I almost thought I caught the smell of burning flesh in my nose, though I’m sure that had more to do with the cheerfully burning fire beside me.

_I killed them_.

I wept with the horror of it, terror gripping my heart. Because some still lived, and they’d seen my face, and they knew where I was headed. They knew where to look for me: the Dunmer who murdered them with magic.

The door suddenly opening and closing heavily made me jerk my head up, my heart slamming in my chest. I whirled around, my eyes widening.

Ulfric glared down at me. I’d _never_ seen him look so angry.

“It _was_ you,” he said. He reached down, grabbing me by the arm and hauling me to my feet. “ _You_ murdered those men. Didn’t you?”

I’m ashamed to say that all I could do was cry. My world was crumbling around my feet, and I didn’t know what to do to stop it. The only person I truly cared for in the world thought me a murderer, and would likely hang me for it. The Nord gods, I thought in that moment, were very cruel gods, to have brought me back from the brink of death, only to be forced to live through this.

Gradually, I felt the grip on my arm slacken. I felt his other hand grasp my other arm, his hold on me gentler now.

“Casien,” he said quietly. “Casien, what happened.”

I told him, haltingly, as best I could.

“I didn’t mean it,” I said when I’d finished, my whole body shaking now with fear and sickness over what I had done. “I didn’t mean to kill them. It just happened. It came out of me; I couldn’t control it. I was so angry, and so afraid—I thought they were going to—” But my voice cut off, unable to voice the thought aloud.

He released one of my arms, reaching up to gently touch the no doubt sizable bruise beginning to bloom on the right side of my face. His blue eyes were hard.

“Casien,” he said again, then, more gently: “Little roebuck. Come, dry your tears. This will not do. They will know you in an instant.”

He pulled a cloth from his pocket and used it to wipe at my red eyes, careful to not disturb the growing puffiness under my right eye. The cloth smelled of oil and steel, as if he had used it to clean his sword.

“Take off your cloak,” he instructed, and I did so, my fingers fumbling. “Your boots are covered in mud and slush. Go and wash them, quickly.”

I did so, returning from the washroom a few minutes later. My heart still beat fast in my chest, but it no longer felt as if it were going to explode from grief and fear: the king, I thought, was not going to hang me after all.

“Now,” he continued, placing his large, steady hands on my shoulders. “You will go upstairs to my room. It is the last doorway at the end of the main hallway. You will stay there until I tell you otherwise. Do you understand?”

I nodded. He released me, and I turned and headed for the door.

“Keep your head down,” he added. “And here.” He disappeared briefly inside the washroom before returning with a stack of drying cloths, which he pressed into my arms.

He nodded at me, “Go.” And I went.

I had never been to the third floor—the royal apartments. Of course the jarl’s room was not the only room here; there were also rooms for a theoretical family, though as everyone knew, Ulfric Stormcloak had not yet chosen to start a family. Galmar Stone-Fist lived up here as well, as did Jorleif, the Steward of Windhelm. A handful of other important officials had apartments on the third floor, but I didn’t know them by anything other than their titles, and even then only vaguely.

There were guards posted nearly everywhere: at the top of the stairs, patrolling the hallways, or even stationed at some of the doors. I made my way down the main hallway as unobtrusively as possible, and let myself in through the wide, wooden double doors.

Ulfric had referred to this as his “room,” but in truth it was made up of several. The double doors opened onto a sitting room, though at a moment’s glance I could see its chief use was to serve as a place for the king to throw aside his cloak and kick off his dirty boots. Having been a house servant for several months now, I was rather appalled by the sight, and wondered who tended the rooms up here.

Beyond the sitting room, I could see glimpses of a study of sorts, a massive desk taking up a good deal of the space. In any other situation I would have been utterly enamored over the number of books lining the shelves that ringed the walls, too. Beyond the study was, I assumed, the bedroom, and likely the most elaborate wash room the castle could boast.

I sat down on the nearest chair (or rather, the nearest clean chair), and waited. I buried my face in my hands and squeezed my eyes shut, but it wasn’t enough to clear the image of those burned bodies from my head. I tried to take deep, steadying breaths, but couldn’t. I wondered, truly, what would happen to me.

I don’t know how much time passed before the outer door finally opened. I looked up and met the tired, grim gaze of the king.

“Stay there,” he instructed me before walking past me.

I watched as he entered the study then disappeared through another doorway. Not long afterward, he returned, this time holding a cloth filled with something…

“…Cold!” I said, when he sat down beside me and pressed it gently to the right side of my face.

“Snow from the balcony,” he explained. “Here,” he took my hand and pressed it against the back of the cloth, so I could hold it myself. “Keep it there until it melts.”

I did as instructed, biting my lip against the numbing cold.

“You are to be my personal servant,” he said. “I will speak to Griselda and make it so. You will sleep in the room beside this one which has been fitted up for that purpose.”

I stared at him as if he had been speaking in another language.

“For now, however, you will sleep here and will not leave these rooms until your injury has faded.”

This, as you might imagine, was quite a lot to take in. I understood to some degree that he was doing me a favor—a large one—but how and why I couldn’t possibly fathom. I blinked, and if I felt renewed tears in my eyes, it had little to do with my earlier shock and fear.

“Why…” I started to ask, but the next question he asked stunned me momentarily into silence.

“Has anyone aside from me seen you use magic?”

_Anyone aside from you…_

I blinked at him.

“No…” I finally answered.

But how could this be? He had _seen_ me use magic? When? _How_?

In an instant, I knew the answer.

“You saw me!” I blurted out.

He said nothing in response, only gazed silently back at me.

I shook my head, disbelieving. “But why didn’t you say anything. You _saw_ me use magic to light the fire, and you said nothing! You talked to me as if I were—as if I were normal…”

It _was_ normal among my kind, or at least not necessarily uncommon. But among Nords? They were said to distrust magic more than any other race. _It’s on account of those damned Thalmor_ , my aunt had once explained. They stalked throughout their so-called Dominion, waving their magic in the face of the downtrodden and ranting about elven superiority. No wonder the humans hated us, though I wondered that they couldn’t tell a short, gray-skinned nobody like me from a pretentious Altmer dressed in gold-plated armor.

Instead of answering me, he rose to his feet.

“I will go and fetch you some blankets,” he said before once again disappearing from the room.

The obvious kindness he was extending towards me seemed at odds with his cold and brusque demeanor. But I was in no position to argue or demand any sort of explanation from him, so I simply continued to sit quietly, my right cheek now quite numb (which was a blessed relief from the earlier throbbing). When he returned, he handed me the pair of blankets.

“Do not under any circumstances leave this room,” he said, and when I nodded, he turned yet again, and this time when he disappeared into the study, he closed the door behind him.

There remained nothing for me to do but remove my boots and curl up on one of the couches, which was admittedly quite comfortable. There was no proper fireplace in the room, but a cast iron freestanding one that burned coal sat in one corner—I supposed it would soon be my job to replenish it and keep it tidy and working. It kept the chill from invading the room overmuch, but with the door closed, I knew it would get awfully cold in here, despite the thick tapestries hanging from each wall.

I blew out all the candles save one and placed it on the table near my couch before lying down. I tried not to see the burnt bodies of the dead when I closed my eyes. I was unsuccessful, and it was only on account of exhaustion that I finally fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know; it's a short one this time ^^;; I promise the next chapter will be much longer ;)


	9. Chapter 9

Exhaustion carried me into a sleep so deep that I slept past my normal wake-up time. I suppose I was lucky I was no longer the fire tender for the second floor guest rooms; Owyyn would have reported the negligence to Griselda immediately, and who knows what might have happened. As it is, I was allowed to sleep peacefully in the nearly pitch-dark room for who knows how long. It wasn’t until the doors to the study opened again that I was finally drawn up from the dredges of sleep.

I opened my eyes, watching dully as a cart of delicious smelling food was wheeled past the couch I was sleeping on.

The cart paused.

“You’re awake.”

I looked further up and into the hard eyes of the king before nodding and sitting up, running my fingers through my sleep-tangled hair.

“Come into the study then and share this with me,” he said, and as kind as the invitation was, it still sounded like a command.

I obeyed, pausing to fold the blanket up before following him into the study in my socked feet—I didn’t wish to pull on my boots and track any lingering dirt or mud through the elaborate rugs that adorned most of his apartment. His own feet were bare—a testament to Nord hardiness, I’m sure, as even with the rugs the floor was still freezing, just as it is everywhere in the castle at this time of year—though he was fully dressed.

“Sit,” he said, nodding at one of the chairs that sat opposite his desk, so I sat.

He selected a warm piece of toasted bread with some sort of fruity jam spread onto the top along with a couple of still-sizzling sausages, placing them on a small saucer which he then set before me. There was only one mug of what smelled like very strong coffee, so he got up and disappeared into what I believed was the bedroom door, the only way to access the washroom, too. When he returned, he had a glass of water, which he set before me as well.

“The hunt for last night’s murderer continues,” he said, reseating himself and digging immediately into the rest of his breakfast.

I remained silent, overcome anew with the horror of what I had done, however unintentionally.

“As of yet, no one suspects you,” he continued. “The men simply reported that they were attacked by a male dark elf who said he worked for me. As I have relatively few male Dunmer in my employ, I said that I or my people could attest to the location of each one at the time of the incident, so it seems likely that the one who attacked them had lied. They seemed all too willing to believe that to be the case.”

A knot of tension I hadn’t realized I’d been holding in my belly finally loosened: I was not suspected and may yet live through this. I didn’t forget, too, that I owed this to the king—who had, for unknown reasons, clearly lied. It was humbling, and it was altogether a little bit terrifying.

“I believe Griselda suspects I have taken you to my bed,” he said, spearing one of the remaining sausages. “This works to our advantage. She has tried to insist I take a personal servant for years, but I have refused. That I would do so now, and for you, seems to confirm suspicions that she has been harboring since I first recommended you for your current position. So long as she thinks that, she has little reason to believe you are connected with the murders.”

_Murders_ , I thought, my heart thudding painfully in my chest. So there had been more than one.

And, oh yes, the warmth that pricked against the skin of my face was impossible to hide; he spoke so nonchalantly about rumors I had been so anxious to quell. Yet that nonchalance stung in a way—as if the mere thought of taking me to his bed were so ludicrous he had no reason to reveal or even feel any emotion about it at all.

I ate my toast and didn’t say a word.

“Now,” he said, taking a long swallow of coffee before setting the mug down and looking right at me. “Will you look me in the eyes and tell me that you did not mean to kill those men.”

I froze.

After a second I swallowed and said, my voice croaky with morning non-use, “I… did not mean to kill those men.”

I could feel tears stinging my eyes yet again. Regardless of my genuine intentions _…_ I had _killed them_. But I swallowed my fear and self-hatred and took a deep breath.

Ulfric finally nodded.

“There are proper ways to kill a man. I will teach you.”

Teach me? Teach me how? And why was magic not a proper way to defend myself, for defending myself was surely what I had been doing, even if I hadn’t meant to. Had my magic _not_ surfaced as it had last night, I would have no doubt suffered deeply; I may not even be alive. For all my gratitude towards him, for all the hidden feelings I reluctantly harbored for him, however inappropriate—I was angry with him and his foolish Nordic superstitions and prejudices.

Naturally, I didn’t voice these thoughts aloud. At least not yet. Our situation was too precarious, and truly, I owed him a great deal. And I suppose I idolized him even more, for last night, in my eyes at least, he proved himself a great king and, more importantly, a great man. He did not _have_ to protect me, but he had. Perhaps it was naïve of me, but I truly believed then that he would have done the same for any innocent man or woman in his city.

“I must go,” he said, pausing to wipe his mouth before standing. “Entertain yourself as you like, but do not leave these rooms. I will try to return for lunch, but I am supervising new recruits today. If you must wait until dinner to eat again, I will be sure to have it sent up here early.”

For whatever reason, he was still brusque towards me, still cold. Whatever friendship had grown between us these past few months had been stifled—and yet he had done this great thing for me. But I knew not to push him. He was a king, and beyond that a proud man in general. Now was not the time to demand any sort of explanation.

Yet I felt I had to say something.

“Thank you,” I said.

The words left me all in one breath, and he was halfway across the room before he paused and looked back at me.

“Fool that I am,” he muttered, almost as if speaking to himself. He nodded at me before turning again and heading into the sitting room, where he pulled on his boots, gloves, and cloak before strapping on his sword belt and leaving through the outer door.

I should point out that the room was warm, quite comfortably so. Two roaring fireplaces were situated on opposite walls, one of which was shared with the bedroom. I suppose he tended to these himself, seeing as he had had no personal servant. Yet I imagine Griselda or someone else had to come in here at least once a week and tidy up—I couldn’t see a king, however private in his manners, dusting or mopping or scrubbing his own toilet. And someone brought the wood in for the fire, and had left the cart of food outside the door.

I looked at it now; all of the dishes were empty, and the breakfast had been quite hardy, even despite the pieces he had shared. He was a large man, so I suppose it was no surprise. I piled the dishes back onto the cart and rolled it back through the sitting room. Of course, he had said to not leave the apartment, but surely there would be no harm in pushing the cart just outside the door. I pulled as much of my hair over the right side of my face as I could, just to be sure.

One guard stood at attention just outside the door. He glanced at me when I opened it but looked away when he saw it was just me. I caught him rolling his eyes and couldn’t help flushing, knowing what he must think. It was humiliating, suffering all the consequences of such a rumor, yet receiving none of the benefits of it being actually true.

Once I’d left the empty cart outside, I returned to the library.

The wall behind the desk housed an immense window, the heavy drapes partially drawn across it currently to keep out the cold. I looked out, expecting to see the city, but I was all turned around. It faced the wide, dark expanse of the bay. All I could see through the cold mist were the immense waves crashing against the sides of the castle.

Entertain yourself, he’d said, so I did. Maybe I was still irked with him for his caustic remarks about magic, or maybe his cold demeanor hurt me more than I was willing to admit. Feeling rebellious, I sat at his desk and pulled open the drawers. Most held stacks of letters and other important documents; one, charmingly, held nothing but an apple and a knife. There was a bottle of strong spirits in another, a few septums, more documents… I read some of the letters, but they were not particularly interesting: letters from other heads of states, tax documents, letters of law and government and business. There was one from the jarl of Whiterun expressing firm neutrality in regards to the coming war; it was crinkled up as if its recipient had balled it up in a frustrated rage before thinking better of the action.

I was stunned to find one from High Queen Elisif, her script long and elegant. In it, she proposed—well, she actually _proposed_ , though it was the most unemotional and businesslike proposal I had ever read (and I was what many would consider a great reader—a far more flattering term for my literary propensities than Ullte or Cylna would have likely used). The letter was dated over a year ago. Considering the whispers of approaching war, I assumed the response had been in the negative.

I replaced all the letters and closed the drawer, wondering at his refusal and knowing I could never ask him about it. The queen would only have made such a proposal as a final effort to settle things between Solitude and the Stormcloaks. No, I realized, nothing in Ulfric’s character suggested that he would ever accept such a solution. It wasn’t power that he wanted; it was freedom—freedom from the oppressive rule of the Aldmeri Dominion and their Imperial dogs.

Now understand that I didn’t necessarily possess such extreme views, though I had come to understand why those who ruled Solitude were, for the most part, in the wrong. I was not from Skyrim and it simply wasn’t in my nature to belittle entire swaths and races of people. But I did know that Ulfric had put off this war for as long as he could, and that Elisif’s inability to stand up to the occupying force in Solitude had resulted in the deaths and suffering of many of her people. I understood why many in Windhelm viewed her as a pretender and supported their own jarl with all their hearts.

For the first time, then, I really thought about what it might mean: The War.

Ulfric Stormcloak would be at the head of his great army—he was not the type to lead from behind. Suppose he did not return from it?

It didn’t bear thinking. It was not a thing I had any control over whatsoever, and therefore—it didn’t bear thinking.

The library itself, I imagined, must have been continuously added to by previous queens and kings of Windhelm. It was immense. The shelves stretched from top to bottom and covered nearly every available section of the wall. Every topic was covered, too, and I was quite surprised and pleased to see that it was organized by category and genre and then further by alphabet. I selected a tome on the Forsworn, the tribesmen and women of the Reach who claimed to have held the area before the Nords. I knew little about them and always relished the opportunity to expand my knowledge on topics I felt particularly weak in. Afterward, I reserved for myself a novel which I had never read before; it would be my treat for spending several hours in diligent study.

I could have settled in the sitting room; the couches and plush chairs were comfortable enough, but curiosity led me to the bedroom. I would have to make my way through it anyway when I eventually needed the washroom—the thought occurred to me then that I hadn’t bathed since two nights ago. I set my books on the edge of the immense bed, which I would appreciate later, and entered the washroom.

Understand that downstairs when I worked in the kitchens there had been a simple communal bathing room. One was for male servants and one was for female, though if all the tubs were occupied in the women’s room, some less modest female servants would use the men’s room. Whatever the case, my own modesty had to be quickly done away with, as all of the tubs were in view of one another; there was never any time for leisurely soaking, and half the time the water was too cold to truly enjoy—the pipes were heated in the same way Helgird’s had been, but eventually, they would begin to run cold. Upstairs, there were fewer of us, so there was a single room with one tub for each sex, but again, it was hardly a luxurious event.

The jarl’s washroom was as richly adorned as the rest of his apartment. Tapestries hung on the stone walls to seal in the heat, and a cheerful little fire burned away in one corner. Plush rugs covered the stone floor, even the area around the tub itself. I wondered that they didn’t rot from the water but supposed they must have been constructed of some particular fiber or other. A closet held several drying and wash cloths, along with several folded robes. I couldn’t imagine Ulfric Stormcloak lolling about in a robe, but you can bet _I_ had every intention of doing so.

I took probably the second longest bath I’d ever taken, second only to the one I’d first taken at Helgird’s. I would have lingered longer, but the water was growing cold, and I didn’t want to ruin the experience. I dried myself off and shrugged into one of the robes, which was naturally far too big for me, but that only added to how comfortable it felt.

Now I could fully appreciate the immensity of the bed. It was covered (though unmade, of course) in velvety fabrics and soft animal furs; I felt almost swallowed in them at first when I lay down and buried my face into the mattress. I was feeling delightfully deviant, and there was something not a little thrilling about lying in the bed of the man I had mooned over for two years now. _This is the closest you’ll ever get to him_ , I thought to myself, and I had to reign the thought in before it became a little too much to bear. I didn’t fancy having to clean _that_ from the sheets, let alone the robe.

I had settled down finally and gotten very deep into my book when, before I knew it, several hours had already flown by. The history of the Forsworn was surprisingly fascinating, which was _definitely_ something I’d never admit out loud to someone like Ullte or Cylna. I was nearly halfway through the book when the sound of the outer door opening and closing ripped me from my study.

I looked up in horror, listening as the footsteps paused in the study before turning towards the bedroom.

I acted on instinct. That’s really my only excuse. Without thinking, I tossed the book aside and ducked behind the far side of the bed.

I could literally _feel_ the presence of my observer peering in my direction. It only remained to be seen as to whether the observer himself was more angry than amused.

I peeked my head up over the mattress.

Definitely amused.

“Good afternoon,” said the king, a hint of a smirk on his face.

“Afternoon,” I replied, not moving.

He arched one eyebrow.

“I was going to share my lunch with you, but I see you are otherwise engaged. My apologies.”

When he turned to go, I stood up quickly, crying “Wait!” even though I fully knew he was teasing me.

He paused, turned around, and looked at me, both eyebrows now arching now in question.

“You are wearing my robe,” he finally said.

The smirk had definitely grown.

“Yes,” I said, and if I had known enough magic to make myself instantly disappear in that moment, I would have.

“Well, if it please his lordship, he may dine with me in the study. I also told Griselda to have someone pack your things and bring them to your new room. I took the liberty of bringing you a set of clothing.” He paused, his eyes trailing down a little. “You may change after we eat.”

“Thank you,” I said, and I suppose I was too embarrassed to dwell on the fact that his gaze had lingered on the sight of me in his robe, for I immediately breathed a silent sigh of relief once his back was turned and followed him back out of the room.

Lunch was a cold and practical ordeal, and I suspected had been provided in the training yard. It consisted of a pair of apples, a couple loaves of freshly baked bread, and some cold meats and cheeses.

“Galmar teased me for my appetite,” he said, laying one of the apples and some of the bread, cheese, and meat before me. He also handed me an unopened bottle of beer. “He says I am going to get too fat to lead our men and women to glory.”

“He doesn’t know about me?” I said, surprised—and probably shouldn’t have, because the frown that crossed his face was rather heartbreaking.

“It is my habit to tell Galmar nearly everything,” he said, his eyes meeting mine briefly. “But not this. He would not understand.”

Because of the magic, I supposed, and we both chewed in silence for a while.

“How is it that you’re so different from other Nords?” I asked. “Most people would have executed me for what happened, even though I was—even though I was not the one who intended harm. But you didn’t.”

He was silent for a very long time, his eyes occasionally flitting to mine as he ate. Finally, he spoke.

“I spent nearly a third of my life with the priests of High Hrothgar,” he said, and there was just something about his voice that made me think he wasn’t telling the entire truth, but I couldn’t say how or why. “From them I learned the truth about magic. While I fear the destruction it can wrought as any sane man should, I know that those who are born with the ability to use it are not inherently evil. So, to answer your question: I suppose it is on account of my unique education.”

“Did you choose to go there?” I asked, genuinely curious, “Or were you sent?”

“It was my choice. We are not so dissimilar, you and I. When I was your age—far younger, even—I had a thirst for knowledge. The Greybeards are the most learned men and women in all of Skyrim, and I knew that if I could harness the power of the Voice it would be an accomplishment I felt I could never top.” He smiled faintly. “But I underestimated my own ambitions. I think now that I could ensure the safety of every man, woman, and child in all of Skyrim, all of Tamriel—and it would not be enough.”

I knew that some would interpret his confession as simple greed, a simple lust for power. Yet on many levels I could so easily, too easily, perhaps, relate to it. No amount of knowledge would ever be enough for me. I couldn’t even envision what it would feel like to be done with learning and seeing and experiencing. It was impossible.

“You were sorry to leave them,” I said, stating the obvious.

“Very sorry indeed. But it was for the best. I had already been there ten years; it is not good to remain stagnant, even in such a place of learning. And my country needed me, as it did all able-bodied fighters.”

“How old were you when you joined the war?”

“About your age, I should think. I was just turned nineteen.”

Exactly my age, though I was now closer to twenty than nineteen.

“I suppose you have never held a sword,” he said, giving me a thoughtful look.

“No,” I said, probably sounding more than a little sulky, “Why would I? I’m not a fighter like you. I’m just a farmer. Or I was a farmer; now I’m a servant.”

“All Nords know how to handle a weapon. It is in our blood, yes, but we train for it, too. Skyrim is a harsh country, and we must always be prepared to handle whatever it is she chooses to give us.”

“Well, I don’t see myself traveling anytime soon, so I suppose the fierce wildlife of Skyrim will be safe from my fumbling sword arm for now.”

He sighed. “Stubborn little roebuck! And if you had been armed and trained last night? Where might you be?”

I honestly didn’t know how to answer the question. Would being proficient with a weapon have prevented my magic from rising up as it had last night? And how proficient would I have had to be to fend off so many attackers?

He chuckled a little, tearing off another piece of bread. “‘How seemingly deep in thought the mighty stag, chewing his dinner and gazing at the moon’.”

“Seemingly?” I asked, frowning.

He shrugged. “It is a poem about a deer. Come, what is it I’ve said that’s unsettled you so?”

I sighed.

“I just don’t know about me learning how to use a sword. It’s not really who I am. I’m… I’m not sure I could bring myself to really hurt someone.”

This seemed to sober him, and he looked thoughtful for a moment, his free hand rubbing his bearded chin as he looked at me.

“Magic is not a force unto itself,” he finally said, “Or so I have been led by the Greybeards to understand. It is tied intrinsically to the person who wields it.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, your magic killed those men because you wanted to kill them.”

This, as you can imagine, did not sit very well with me. As awful as those men had been, it hadn’t ever entered into my head to kill them; so far I had simply blamed the magic itself, as if it were a wild and uncontrollable force inside me—and in many ways, it was, but if what Ulfric was saying was true…

I swallowed. “I think they were going to… I mean, I fought them, and they would’ve had to kill me, but I think they were going to…”

“I know,” he said gently. “And for that they deserved your wrath. They deserved death, and were the world more just, I would gladly give it to those who yet live.”

But the world was not just. In order to prove that the men who attacked me had struck first, he would have to produce me as a witness. And he couldn’t do that, because then the entire city would descend upon me, whether I’d been acting in self-defense or not. Magic was magic, and to most Nords, magic was evil. The fact that I was mer, and a Dunmer at that, would only strengthen their case against me. In such a situation, Ulfric would risk losing the support of his city were he to continue defending me.

And so Rolff Stone-Fist—assuming he was one of those who yet lived—and his friends would remain living.

“I will not force you to learn,” he said after a while, when I remained silent. “But it would greatly relieve me if you would agree to let me teach you.”

“All right,” I said, already feeling a little anxious at the thought of holding a weapon in my hands. “If you think it’s for the best.”

“I do.”

He drained the last of his beer before standing.

“And now I must leave you again. I will tell Griselda to have dinner sent up here, but I’m afraid I will be very late. Galmar and I must speak with some of the generals before they depart. I suspect it will be a rather lengthy discussion.”

“Your clothes,” he added, his eyes falling to the robe I was wearing again, the corner of his mouth twitching ever so slightly, “Are in the sitting room.”

And with that he was gone. After a moment, I got up and went to see what he had brought me; I was surprised that it was not one of my uniforms but my own personal pair of brown leather pants and a shirt that I often wore when going into town. I was comfortable in both, but it would have somehow felt different, wandering around the jarl’s apartment while dressed in my uniform—as if I were doing something I wasn’t supposed to be doing.

I tried to settle back down with my book, but it was hard to concentrate. I couldn’t stop thinking about our conversation, and I wondered when I would be obliged to begin my so-called training. I thought, too, about how amused he was to see me in his robe—and I admit at one point I paused to bury my face in my hands and groan with frustration. His actions were of late so mercurial, and his station in life was so unfathomably above my own, that it felt overwhelming foolish to even waste my time daydreaming about the hidden meaning behind his rare smiles. That was the fault of my own naiveté, I suppose, for I had never loved nor been loved before. Love wasn’t something I was capable of understanding in myself, let alone recognizing in others. The best I could do was set my weighty history aside and reach for the novel instead, losing myself in the lives, loves, and losses of far more interesting, and imaginary, people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man, do NOT get used to these daily updates (๑￫‿￩๑) ... At some point I'm going to remember that the rest of the world exists, and we'll probably go back to weekly updates.
> 
> Sowwy (๑•́‧̫•̀๑)


	10. Chapter 10

As it turned out, my first sword-fighting lesson ended up being much sooner rather than later: the very next day, in fact.

After breakfast, I made hasty use of the washroom, as I’d been warned that I wouldn’t be spending the morning alone as I had yesterday. I dressed in my own clothes and tidied up the washroom once I’d finished—I was technically the jarl’s new personal servant after all. I’d started on the bedroom (though let’s not pretend I knew remotely _any_ thing about what to do with so many layers of plush blankets and furs and pillows) when I heard the apartment door opening and closing again.

“Oh no,” I said, once I’d straightened and seen what the bed’s owner was carrying as he entered the room.

“Come here,” he said, ignoring my sudden nervous fidgeting. “Stop hiding behind the bed. It can’t save you.”

I trudged forward, not a little unlike a dog that knows it’s about to get a scolding. He took my right hand and fitted the pommel of the sword in it, folding my fingers around it.

“Your grip is everything,” he said, still holding my clenched fist between both his hands. “It must be firm, yet light.”

I frowned at the sword in my hand. “Why is it so dull?”

“You are not ready to wield a proper blade. We will practice with this first.”

I’m sure I must have pouted a bit at that because I almost thought I saw him roll his eyes.

“You’re holding it too tightly,” he continued. “Relax. Loosen your last two fingers. Move your thumb… No, like this.”

He placed his hand over mine, nudging my thumb forward a little.

“Now, stand with your feet shoulder-length apart, right foot slightly forward. Bend your knees a little, and try to lean forward onto the balls of your feet. Good. Now hold up your arm… Thorig’s Beard, the one holding the sword, not that one. ”

He sighed, and I looked at him, even as I felt as if I might topple over from balancing so precariously.

“You are as stiff as a hoary old oak.” He came up behind me and placed his large hands on my shoulders. “Loosen your neck and your shoulders. There. Now don’t hunch forward, keep your shoulders pressed back.” He lowered one hand, resting it on my right hip. “Keep your hips relaxed and pressed forward… What is it?”

For I had finally lost my nerve and pulled away from him, clutching the sword to my chest and trying to steady my breathing and the pounding of my heart. Was this some sort of joke he was playing on me? Was this on purpose or not?

“It’s too hard,” I said, still not looking at him—and really, truer words have never been spoken.

“A child of five can do as much,” he said, and I thought he sounded a little annoyed. “Come, enough with these hysterics. Let’s try—

“So now I am hysterical!” I said, whirling around and glaring at him, the sword still clutched to my heart. I was gripping it with both hands, my knuckles turning white from the effort.

His eyes seemed to widen, a look of dawning horror on his handsome face.

“Shore’s bones… Casien, forgive me. I shouldn’t have touched you, not after…”

“No!” I interrupted, shocked; I couldn’t let him think that; it was too horrible. “It’s not that; it’s just…”

Now it was my turn to sigh.

“I’m sorry. Look, I’ll try again. And I’ll be loose this time, I promise.”

It was a tricky business. I wanted him to touch me again, yet I didn’t. In the end, it didn’t really matter what I wanted; as much as I tried to listen to his instructions, I still couldn’t seem to get anything right on the first try. He wrapped his hand around my wrist, pressing his finger into the center until I relaxed it. He rested a hand on one shoulder, pushing it back because I kept forgetting to do it myself. At one point, his chest was nearly pressed against my back, as he kept one hand on my left shoulder, and the other wrapped around my right wrist while he instructed me on how to hold and position the sword.

I was ashamed of my attraction. He was doing so much for me, yet all I could do was imagine his lips pressing against the back of my neck. It was wrong, terribly wrong, or so I thought it must be. What could be more inappropriate than a one-sided attraction between a servant and his master?

Meanwhile, he calmly led me through several more stances, making me practice shifting from one to the other until I had got them all down. I doubt I was much to look at; no one in my life had ever described me as athletic, and rightfully so. But he was a good teacher, which I suppose shouldn’t have been surprising: he was a rare combination of a man who was a natural leader, but one who also cared about those who followed him. Still—I suppose it seems silly now, that I could have been so blind to his attentions. But such observations are always easier to make in hindsight.

Once I knew how to stand and hold my sword properly, he showed me how to lunge, thrust, and block.

“Good,” he said, once I’d demonstrated reasonable proficiency for all three. “Now we will try something else.”

He had me get into a ready stance, my sword half-raised, then came to stand before me.

“Imagine that you are walking home one evening. I am a villain who has accosted you and called you a vile slur. I ready my fists…” He brought them up, and the look he was giving me would have been frightening—if I didn’t know him, and know he was attempting to play a part (and badly, too).

I tried very hard to swallow my smile.

“What am I supposed to do?” I asked.

“Show me,” he said.

I took a deep breath and raised my sword.

“Okay.”

“Like a fox trembling in the snow before the tiger—you cannot hope to best me in battle!” he roared, and rushed forward, reaching out for me. I blinked, completely forgetting to block, and before I knew it, he had his hand around my neck.

I stared up at him, blinking again.

“Casien,” he sighed. “What are you doing? I’ve just snapped your neck.” His fingers gave a gentle little squeeze as if to emphasize the point.

“Was that from a poem?” I asked, a bit breathless for some reason. “‘Like a fox trembling in the snow…’ that was beautiful!”

He gave me a quizzical look, though the expression quickly became exasperated. “No, it was… can you not focus for one second?”

“Sorry,” I said, smiling a bit sheepishly.

After a moment, I couldn’t help noticing that his hand was still around my neck. I thought about pointing it out, but then wondered if this was still part of the lesson. Perhaps I was meant to try and break free. But then his grip loosened even more, and he wasn’t so much gripping my neck as he was cupping it, gently, from behind.

I looked up into his eyes—he was standing so close now I had to _really_ look up. And I admit I was probably already rising up on my toes even as the pressure on the back of my neck gently increased, and he leaned down and kissed me.

It was a heady, breathless kiss, deep and passionate. His lips opened against my own, sucking my tongue into his mouth, drawing a little moan from deep within me. I quickly lost myself in him, my right hand dropping the sword as I leaned against his large frame and gripped the fabric of his tunic, drawing him closer against me—

Which was right when he abruptly broke the kiss, a look of panting shock and horror on his face.

“By Ysmir,” he breathed. “No, this is not…”

He took a step back, releasing me, as if the touch of my skin burned him.

“No,” he said again, shaking his head. “I’m sorry.”

He turned and strode out of the room then; if I hadn’t known him better, I would have said he was fleeing. I stood there like a startled deer facing down the glowing eyes of a sabercat, not moving until I heard the outer door open and slam closed again.

I brought one hand up in wonder, touching my own mouth. My skin still tickled from the rough touch of his beard. I could still taste him on my tongue.

My heart beat hard and fast in my throat. He had kissed me. My feelings that I had denied and later tried to ignore weren’t wrong; instead, they were returned, tenfold, and with such passion it had rocked me nearly to my very core.

But then he had fled.

Why?

I knew the answer, even as soon as the question entered my head: Because I was a servant. Because I was a nobody who had come from nothing.

Because I was a gray-skin.

I don’t remember the rest of that morning or even the afternoon very well. I don’t believe lunch was sent up, and so I don’t think I ate anything, not that I _would_ have or _could_ have eaten anything. I couldn’t lose myself in my reading. I couldn’t play the part of servant and clean the apartment. I think, more than anything, I spent a lot of time sitting on the windowsill in the study and looking down at the gray mirthless bay below.

For all his great speeches and seeming bravado, Ulfric Stormcloak was a coward. No wonder he had been hiding me away here, as if I were some horrific secret. (My bitterness had obviously clouded my memory as well as my judgment—“hiding” here had most assuredly saved my life.) I couldn’t understand how someone seemingly so noble could be so concerned with the opinions of those around him. Did the success of the war effort really hinge on the race and social status of whomever the High King took to his bed? What kind of spineless coward used that as an excuse to rebuff a would-be lover?

The sun had long since set by the time the outer door to the apartment opened again.

I heard him throw off his boots, cloak, and sword belt before entering the study. He paused, and our eyes met. For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of the cheerfully crackling fire, and the mournful ubiquitous howling of the wind just outside the castle walls.

“I believe I owe you an apology,” he finally said, “for my actions this morning.”

“Which one?” I asked. “The one where you kissed me, or the one where you ran away afterward?”

“Both,” came the reply.

I hadn’t been expecting that, so I remained silent.

His jaw tightened, and he looked away, his gaze falling and resting on the fire instead.

“I think it is best that you sleep in your room tonight and from now on. I had dinner sent up for you there. I assure you, you will find accommodations quite comfortable. Certainly more comfortable than my couch.”

“As my lord commands.”

The words clearly stung him, and his eyes met mine again, briefly, before turning away again, his fingers curling into fists.

“Casien,” he said lowly, without looking up again. “I’m sorry. But please—go.”

So I did. I slid off the windowsill and walked past him; our eyes met as we passed, and yes, he looked pained, but I was the truly offended party here, was I not? How shocking that after rejecting me for who and what I was, he would now insist on us living again as master and servant. It was the proverbial cherry on top of the cake.

He had told the truth regarding my room. Yes, it was just one room, but it was spacious and well-furnished. I had everything I needed and more. I suspect a very guilty king had presided over its being fitted up for me in particular, as there was a great stockpile of clothing in my size in the closet, and there was even a small bookshelf filled with books that I most certainly did not own. It had its own cozy little fireplace with a tub off to the side; there was no water closet, but there was one that the guards and servants used not far down the hall. A tiny window overlooked the bay, so if I _really_ needed to go, well, I wasn’t so hoighty-toighty these days that I couldn’t use a chamber pot.

I ate my dinner silently, reflecting on how much and how quickly my life had changed in a mere 24—let alone 48—hours. Only yesterday, the king and I had sat down to dinner together, and we were back to how we used to be. He’d complained about his day, railed against the antics of some upstart local nobleman, and expressed his hopes and fears regarding the coming war. I told him about the novel I had begun reading, and speculated on its author being inspired by an old Breton tale I knew of about a prince who had been bitten by a wolf and fallen asleep for a hundred years. We then spent several fruitless minutes searching through the study’s library, for he felt certain that he had a collection of Breton fairy tales somewhere, though we never did find them. I’d fallen asleep on my couch that night, smiling and thinking about the jarl, on his knees and muttering to himself as he pulled out book after book, reaching back to see if any had fallen behind the shelving—he really could be so very stubborn sometimes.

How quickly life can alter when we least expect it! But I would come to understand this even more than I felt it now—and far sooner than I might have ever imagined.


	11. Chapter 11

I was still used to waking just before dawn, and that was exactly what happened the following morning. I suppose I could have willed myself back asleep, but I didn’t really see the point. It was funny to think how lazy I had once been, how I’d struggled to open my eyes before breakfast at Helgird’s place. How much a person’s life can change in a mere two or three years!

The first thing I did was use the tiny looking glass to check the bruising on my cheek. It was nearly gone—or rather, it had begun to change color, and so stood out far less, and the swelling had finally gone down completely. I also noticed, with reluctance, that I was probably in need of a shave.

After peeking out into the darkened hallway, I located and made use of the servants’ toilet before making my way back to my room and going through my morning routine. I didn’t normally bathe in the mornings, but since I was already awake, and I knew the jarl tended to not leave his quarters until after he’d had breakfast, I figured I had some time. Afterward, I shaved and brushed my teeth with licorice root; I dried my hair but didn’t bother smoothing it down or tying it back. What did it matter? The jarl’s personal servant could wear his hair however he liked; it wasn’t as if there were anyone here to tell me otherwise.

You might think I was remarkably even and calm after everything that had happened the previous day. In truth, it was the only way I knew how to be. I was alone again—what a familiar feeling that was! And there was no use dwelling on what might have been. The king had put me out of his mind, and I would surely do the same for him.

(How little I knew of love, even then.)

I was faced with a bit of a conundrum, then, as I had no way of knowing whether or not the jarl was still in his quarters. I didn’t particularly fancy entering to clean while he was still there—really, I imagined that was something neither of us really wanted to have to deal with. But I came up with the ingenious idea to leave my own door open just a crack; from there, I could easily observe when he finally left his quarters.

At about a quarter past nine, he finally did.

Even now, after everything that’s happened—I do fault him a little for his behavior that morning. Not only did I not receive any instruction on what my new duties would be, but I was not shown where to retrieve the necessary tools (cleaning supplies and the like), nor was I made to understand how or when I should have my meals, and whether or not I was to ever receive any off-time. No matter, I decided, I would simply take matters into my own hands. I asked the guard outside the jarl’s apartment where the nearest cleaning supply closet was; she pointed me in the right direction, and off I went. There I found the basics: buckets, brooms, mops, cleaning solutions and the like. But what about laundry? I supposed I’d cross that bridge when I came to it.

I nodded at the guard before letting myself into the apartment. I wasn’t prepared for the rush of emotions that hit me as I stood in the little sitting room; you would think I had spent two months or even two weeks there instead of two days from the way those feelings of warm and bitter nostalgia swept over me. I tried my best to put them aside and entered the study, intending on heading towards the washroom. Ulfric seemed to prefer bathing in the mornings and was generally bad about not cleaning up after himself.

I paused, though, broom and mop and buckets still in hand, and stared at the desk. On the edge, in front of the seat that I had tended to sit in when we shared our meals together these past few days, sat a tidy little plate with fruit and breakfast meats. As no one else was expected to enter these rooms, it was quite obvious who the little meal was intended for.

I hated him in that moment. I hated that such a little kindness brought unwelcome tears to my eyes when the last thing I wanted to do right now was sit down, bury my face in my hands, and cry until my heart stopped aching. How dare he show that he still thought of me! It was wrong; it was unacceptable—it was kind, and it was exactly him, and I hated him, _hated_ him for it.

I ate it, of course, the food all tasting like paper and ash. Since I was here, I thought I may as well tidy his desk. That was what servants did, right? The large window needed cleaning, too, and come to think of it, the fireplaces were practically overflowing with ash at this point. I sighed and sat back in my chair, suddenly overwhelmed by all the work I’d managed to invent for myself. It should have been a relief, something to distract me from my morose thoughts, but it wasn’t. It was just more grief piled on top of grief.

I’d left the outer door open, as I’d seen the servants do on the second floor when cleaning the guest bedrooms, but I was nevertheless surprised when someone entered the room. I looked up at the soldier who’d paused at the entrance to the study to knock hesitantly against the wooden frame.

“Sorry,” he said, and I noted that he was around my own age—a young recruit, probably, sent to do his superior’s dirty work. “You’re wanted down in the training yard. You’re to report to Galmar Stone-Fist immediately.”

I sat up, blinking.

“What?!”

The young soldier shrugged.

“Sorry, that’s all I was told.” He hesitated, casting me a wary look. “I really wouldn’t keep Galmar waiting, if I were you.”

The few encounters I’d had with the man made me all too willing to agree with that sentiment, so I nodded and placed the cleaning supplies in a corner of the room before heading for the door.

“Um,” I said, realizing something, “I actually have no idea where that is. Would you mind showing me the way?”

“Sure,” he said, and so we made our way downstairs together. I was lucky enough to not encounter anyone I knew along the way; the thought of having to explain my new situation to Cylna or Jurgan was not a pleasant one. I was definitely sure I wouldn’t be able to handle, let alone tolerate, Jurgan’s crude jokes about me and the jarl, not after everything that had happened.

We were near the far side of the castle, the one directly opposite the one housing the servants’ courtyard and main servants’ entrances. Unlike the courtyard, the training and barracks area was loud and violent, the sounds of steel clashing against steel or hard wood and men and women yelling and calling out to one another filling the air. The ground beneath my shoes was muddy and mixed with gravel, as if someone were constantly trying to make it easier to navigate but constantly failing. Most of the soldiers were Nords, too, every one of them towering over me as they went about their rowdy business, only occasionally sparing a queer look for the very out-of-place Dunmer in their midst.

Not that I was the only servant here; there were a few, here and there, running messages or delivering food and the like. The young soldier led me to a corral where a large, heavily-armored man barked commands at a pair of warriors sparring in the center. A few others clung to the rungs of the corral, clearly enjoying the show, occasionally shouting and rooting for the challenger of their choice.

“Sir,” said the young soldier, and the heavily-armored man turned to look down at us both. “I’ve brought him, sir.”

Galmar Stone-Fist looked at me now as if I were a half-decapitated rat brought in by his wife’s housecat. He grunted then and nodded at my erstwhile guide.

“Return to your duties,” he barked. “You,” he added, this time to me, “Come with me.”

I followed him wordlessly, looking behind me as I went, just in time to see several of the soldiers who’d been caught staring hastily look away. Mystified, I hurried to catch up to Galmar, who didn’t seem to care whether I kept up or not.

“So you’re the one who’s got the jarl so distracted,” he grumbled as we entered a sturdy-looking lean-to. In it were several armor and weapons stands; other soldiers quickly entered and left, depositing their equipment, but no one lingered, especially when they saw the two of us.

I didn’t know what to say in response to being called a “distraction,” though I imagine I probably did turn a little red. Ulfric had said he hadn’t told Galmar anything—but maybe he had only meant the part about me using magic to kill my attackers three nights ago.

I wondered if he’d told Galmar about the kiss. Judging by the way the man was looking at me, probably so.

“Put these on,” he said, shoving a pair of boots at me. “And these when you’re done.”

I caught the heavy bundle of armor he tossed at me with a strained ‘oof!’, all the breath briefly knocked out of me. I was too bewildered to question what was going on, let alone disobey, so I found a nearby box to sit down on and quickly removed my now extremely muddy shoes and pulled on the iron boots—which fit surprisingly well. Everything did, from the leather jerkin and the gloves to the steel greaves and the light chest plate that Galmar had to help me with.

“It’s a little tight,” I said, wheezing slightly as he pulled the last strap.

“You’ll live,” he said. “Here,” and this time he thrust a sword into my arms—a real one.

I gawked down at it.

“But—he said I wasn’t ready—

“Then take it up with him,” he growled. “Though I understand you two aren’t talking, so that might be a little difficult at present. Follow me.”

I made my clumsy way back to the corral area and hoped I didn’t look as foolish as I felt. Galmar immediately barked at the two fighters to break it off; he then told the rest to disperse as well so that we no longer had an obvious audience. They looked reluctant (the image of a very awkward and no doubt distressed-looking servant in practice armor was probably more than a little intriguing), but they obeyed.

“Now,” said Galmar, entering the ring and obviously expecting me to follow, so I did, “Ulfric tells me he’s taught you a thing or two. Let me see you stand at the ready.”

“Wait a second,” I finally said, “How am I supposed to do my job if I’m down here trying not to stab myself with a sword? I’m not a soldier; I’m a servant!”

Galmar glared at me.

“Were you one of my recruits I’d have you flogged for such backtalk. Listen here, Distraction. You have one choice: either stay here and learn with me or leave this place and never come back.”

“Did _he_ tell you to say that?” I asked, annoyed.

“As a matter of fact, he did. Now lift your damned sword and stand at the ready or go crying back to the old priestess.”

“He really told you everything, didn’t he,” I muttered, but I reluctantly got into the proper stance as best I could and held up my sword.

A glimmer of a smile crept onto the older man’s rough face.

“Thought you might do that,” he said. “Now, block!”

I raised my sword more on instinct than anything, as I imagine anyone would do if a 200-plus pound man armored and armed to the teeth came rushing at them. _THWACK!!_ The force of the impact between my sword and the one he wielded—for he hadn’t even bothered to lift the battle axe at his side—knocked me breathlessly backwards. I landed in the mud, my eyes reopening and widening in horror, for the attack wasn’t letting up.

“Roll!” he ordered, so I tucked my arms and sword in and rolled over, just as the tip of his sword thrust into the ground, right where my head had been.

“Slice my foot off at the ankle!” he growled down at me. “Hamstring me!”

“What?!” I cried, “No!!”

  
“Do it!” he said. “Or I’ll lop your head off and mount it on my horse’s ass!”

Low, familiar laughter on the other side of the corral made me twist my head around, where I gazed up into the amused face of Ulfric himself. He was leaning on the fence, looking for all the world as if he were witnessing a charming country pageant.

“What are _you_ laughing at?!” I said.

But he only smirked and turned away, leaving me in the freezing cold mud. Rage and indignation bubbled up inside me; I grabbed my sword and swung as hard as I could at the ankle of the big man still standing over me.

Of course it bounced right off his steel boot.

“That’s the spirit!” roared Galmar. “Now, ROLL!”

And so commenced my first lesson with Galmar Stone-Fist, right-hand man and apparent confidant of the High King of Skyrim. By the end of it I was breathless, bruised, and absolutely covered in mud. It was well past lunchtime, yet I was so tired and filthy I couldn’t even imagine summoning the effort to feed myself. Fortunately, Galmar grabbed me and dragged me over to the barracks, where lunch was being served to all the soldiers currently housed there.

 “If this isn’t the most wretched thing I’ve ever laid eyes on I’ll cut the damned things out myself,” he growled, watching as I stared pitifully at my bowl of hearty stew, unable to summon the energy needed to lift the spoon.

“Just leave me here to die in peace,” I said, wondering if it were possible to use magic to will the food into my mouth without having to actually move.

“Die on your own time,” he replied, digging into his own stew with gusto. “Tomorrow you report back to me, same time, same place.”

I gave him what I can only imagine must have been the most horrified of looks.

“How long am I expected to have to do this?!”

“Until I say you don’t have to. Or, more likely, until the Stormcloak army moves out and begins marching south. I won’t have time for mouthy little Distractions then.”

I lowered the spoon I’d somehow managed to pick up. Wait—was he implying that, once the army finally began marching, _I_ was meant to accompany them?

“Is the jarl’s personal servant supposed to go with him everywhere he goes?” I asked weakly.

Going to war wasn’t exactly on my bucket list, but at the same time—the thought of not having to be separated from the king was a painfully pleasant one. Yet how would that even work out? Did I remain at camp to do his laundry and clean his dishes while he was busy on the battlefield? It all seemed a bit high-minded and delicate for a man like Ulfric Stormcloak.

Galmar looked at me for a long second before shaking his head as though thoroughly disgusted.

“I’d think long and hard before trying to play _me_ for a fool, Distraction. ‘The jarl’s _personal servant_.’” He snorted, shaking his head again before guzzling some of his beer, wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve afterward. “All I aim to do is get you ready for battle so he’ll stop moping around and agree to take you with us. I can’t have him mooning about in the middle of the battlefield when the rest of us are busy skewering Imperials and shoving our blades into those smug Thalmor faces.”

I stared back at him, my mouth hanging half-open. None of this made a bit of sense.

“But he _rejected_ me!” I said, probably a little louder than I meant to, as several other soldiers glanced in our direction. One of them, a tall woman with a scarred-up face, rolled her eyes and snorted. I tried not to blush.

“That’s between the two of you,” said Galmar. “My job is to make sure you can hold a sword long enough to not trip and impale yourself. Nothing more, nothing less.”

The conversation mystified me, but I was too embarrassed to continue it further, not with everyone else listening. So the (completely false) fact that I was the High King’s lover was barely even a secret anymore. Galmar knew, or thought he knew, and so did some of the other soldiers. Yet Galmar talked as if Ulfric and I really were lovers, and that he’d been ordered to prepare me so that I might accompany my aforementioned lover on the campaign.

None of it made sense, and I was entirely too exhausted to try and figure it out on my own. There was one thing I knew to be absolutely true: 24 hours ago, the king had kissed me, and I had kissed him back. He’d then immediately turned away from me before later returning and ordering me to leave. That didn’t leave a great deal of room for interpretation.

Afterward, I made my way back inside and upstairs, receiving quite a few curious looks, considering I was covered in mud and walking as though every muscle in my body ached (because they did). I took what was surely the longest bath in history, even falling asleep at one point and not waking up until the water was almost ice cold again. Afterward, I _wanted_ to collapse into bed, but I was determined to maintain my upkeep and fulfill my duties, so I returned to the jarl’s apartment and resumed cleaning to the best of my abilities.

I managed to clean out all the fireplaces and removed some of the dust from the desk and bookshelves, but by then the sun was threatening to set, and I knew that meant dinnertime was near—and Ulfric would be returning. I returned my cleaning tools to the hall closet and made my way back to my room, where I waited, hunger for my own dinner beginning to gnaw at my belly.

I as yet had spoken to no one in regards to my new duties. I hadn’t seen any other servants; they had to be here, but I hadn’t exactly gone looking for them, either, as I’d mostly restricted myself to either the jarl’s apartment or my own room. When the jarl failed to return for dinner, I realized the obvious: he was eating downstairs, as he often did if he had business to attend to. That meant there’d be no dinner sent up—which meant _I_ was on my own.

I waited a little longer, just to be sure, but eventually I had to face the reality of the situation: I would have to go downstairs to the servants’ wing and forage for dinner myself.

I did so with great reluctance, knowing there was absolutely no way now I could avoid running into any of the other servants. At least it was no doubt now public knowledge that I’d spent the morning in the practice ring with Galmar, so any visible bruising could now be attributed to that.

The staff dining room was nearly empty at this hour—most household servants ate well before the jarl and his guests. There wasn’t much left to choose from, but I wasn’t picky. I wanted only to find something to eat and hurriedly make my way back upstairs again.

A few stragglers glanced up at me as I made my way to the food table, but no one I knew particularly well.

“…sleeping with the jarl,” I heard one of them say to his friend. “…think he’d feed the poor guy.”

“That’s not what I heard,” said the friend, but their voices were too low and muffled for me to overhear more, so I never did learn what other rumors were circulating about my relationship with the king.

I filled my lunch bag—a small rucksack we were all issued upon employment—with as much as I could stuff in it: a couple of pears, a half loaf of bread, a now cold and stiffened meat pie. More voices followed me as I hurried back the way I’d come. _He’s all beat up_ , said one maid to another. _Ulfric likes it rough_ , replied the other, and their laughter chased me back out of the room, an angry, humiliated flush pricking at my skin.

“Mr. Yedlin.”

I was halfway up the stairs when the commanding voice of Griselda the housekeeper, of all people, stopped me dead in my tracks.

I turned around and saw her staring up at me. Reluctantly, I made my way back down until I stood before her.

“I expect that apartment to be spotless when next I see it,” she said, her eyes hard, hands clasped behind her back as she regarded me. But then she seemed to hesitate, and surprised me by softening a little. “You have been a hard worker, and that is an admirable trait. Do not give the others a reason to suspect that one can rise in situation in this household merely by being… _agreeable_.”

That was a polite term for ‘fucking the jarl.’

“I will,” I said, schooling my features as best I could so as not to reveal my indignation. “Work hard, that is. I promise.”

She nodded. “Good.”

After a second, she reached out and gently grabbed my chin, turning my face a little to the left.

“…Is this his doing?” she asked, keeping her voice low, though it now sounded as hard as steel. Surprised, I jerked away from her.

“No,” I said quickly, “It’s Galmar Stone-Fist. Not like that!” For the way her eyes flew open told me she’d quite misinterpreted my explanation. “I mean I’ve been training with him. Ulfric—the king has insisted.”

She narrowed her eyes, but seemed to accept this.

“I suppose he means to take you with him,” she said. Then she sighed and shook her head. “You do realize you are not obliged to go with him? You are a servant, Casien, not a slave. You are a free man, and may leave his service whenever you wish. If you choose to do so, I promise to do everything in my power to secure you a position elsewhere.”

I couldn’t say I’d seen this coming. Griselda showing me compassion! I suppose for all she knew I was being ravished every night by the lustful king, who now planned to tote his plaything with him to war. Well, perhaps “ravished” was too strong a word, but it wasn’t too much of a stretch to think that someone in my position might think himself powerless to remove himself from a situation he no longer desired, whatever the perks.

I nodded.

“But I’m fine, really,” I insisted.

“Very well,” she replied, “And you may spare yourself the indignity of coming downstairs for your sustenance. Food is sent up to the third floor guards and staff throughout the day; you’ll be less likely to encounter gossipmongers in the servants’ lounge up there.”

“Thank you,” I said, once again surprised by her kindness.

She nodded, then turned and left. I did the same, heading back upstairs with my dinner in my hands.

Back in my room, I tried my best to linger over dinner, for I had little to do once I was finished. My thoughts were still too tangled up inside to focus on reading, but I did my best. I had always been something of a loner, and could happily spend hours, if not days, with only myself for company. But that I realized the obvious.

I missed him.

It had been one day since he’d dismissed me from his sight, and already it felt as if it had been a month. Never mind that I had seen him this morning—and the fact that I had been lying on the ground, covered in mud, had done nothing to enhance the moment—I still missed him. I missed what we’d once had, our easy conversation, the way he smiled so thoughtfully at the things I said. How exasperated he could sometimes get with me, yet how fond he seemed to be of my company, too.

No one likes to admit to shedding tears of self-pity, particularly not when one was as close to the age of twenty as I was. But I will allow that my pillow was quite damp that night, and it was altogether too hard, too hard to forget how it had felt to be kissed by him. I didn’t know which had been harder: when I knew I had loved him, but didn’t dare to hope that he could ever care for me in return—or when I knew that he did, yet had rejected me all the same.

No, on second thought, I knew which was worse.

I knew it all too well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a fun little factoid: Galmar and Rolff Stone-Fist are canonically brothers! Er, not in this story. Maybe distant relations. Rolff is the degenerate relative no one is allowed to talk about at the dinner table :P


	12. Chapter 12

My so-called “training” continued for well over a month. It was every day save Sundas, which quickly became my favorite day of the week. Galmar also clearly found it amusing to keep referring to me as Ulfric’s “Distraction.” I on the other hand found it embarrassing and not a little bit confusing.

I also found it odd that he was able to commit so much time to the training of one person; when I asked him what he had done before being tasked with training me, his answer had been illusive, something along the lines of ‘the same thing I do now.’ I could see now that there was a great deal involved in running an army, let alone supervising a standing garrison. But beyond the hour or two I spent with him each day (never more than that; I suppose that first meeting was meant to scare me more than anything), the mysteries of army life remained to me just that: a mystery.

Did I become any more proficient with a sword? I suppose it would have been hard not to. In addition to wielding a sword in my right hand I was also learning how to fight while holding a knife in my left. Galmar explained that the sword and shield were the most common arms arrangement, but for smaller individuals like me, a short sword and dagger proved more effective, thus exchanging power and defense for speed and agility. Now I don’t know that I had much in the way of either of those, but he at least seemed satisfied with my progress.

I never did feel fully comfortable holding a blade in my hand, but maybe that was a good thing. Being capable of defending myself didn’t mean I necessarily _wanted_ to kill people. But if I ever found myself in an inescapable situation, I might at least now stand a fighting chance, as even I could agree that magic was unpredictable, and thus unreliable.

Meanwhile, I stuck diligently to my role as personal servant to the jarl. I cleaned out the fireplaces daily; I tidied the bedroom and made the bed (after debasing myself before another servant on the third floor and begging for her assistance); I mopped and tidied the washroom, and I saw that the desk remained neat and tidy as well. A third floor laundress was responsible for the laundry, so I didn’t have to worry about that, which was rather a relief—somehow, that would have felt a little too personal.

I’m sure it comes as no surprise that we were both still doing our best to avoid one another. I still had it in my head that he avoided me on account of my race and social status, that he really did care for me on some level, but that the sociopolitical situation being what it was, any sort of intimacy between us was impossible. Or maybe he really and truly did regret kissing me. But I didn’t understand why you would do that to someone you didn’t have any sort of feeling for—I suppose some might call me a romantic for that line of reasoning. For my part, I avoided him because I knew that if I were alone with him I’d do one of three things: scream, cry—or throw myself at him. Seeing as none of these seemed as if they’d be even remotely productive, I avoided the scenario altogether.

But to say that we didn’t communicate at all wouldn’t have been entirely accurate.

I still saw him, occasionally, while practicing with Galmar. He would stride across the practice yard, not barking orders the way Galmar would, but still in command of all those around him nonetheless. I would hear him admonishing or praising recruits or asking one of his generals what their company had most need of. Once I saw him testing out the balance of a new longsword; he’d thrown off his cloak, and I couldn’t help staring as he held the weapon aloft, the sun just managing to peek through the clouds to form a halo around his broad shoulders.

Naturally, Galmar made me pay for it but hurtling towards me with his shield, sending me flying back several feet to land unceremoniously in the mud. I managed to catch the soft laughter of a familiar low voice, but when I looked he was already turned away from me and heading back towards the barracks. (Galmar punished me again by thwacking me in the knee with the flat side of his sword.)

And it was probably about a week into my training when I found a note on the desk in the study. It was written in a neat, familiar script and sitting under a red leather book. _Add this to your collection,_ it said.

I picked the book up, reading and mouthing the title silently: _The Collected Poems of Bjald Song-Smith_. There was a page marked with a little folded piece of paper; it was a poem about a deer—and I recognized the lines he had once recited to me.

I closed the book and closed my eyes as well, holding it momentarily to my chest. Why would he do such a thing? Gifting me a book of poetry was supposed to, what— _not_ make me fall more in love with him?

I turned the note over and wrote ‘Thank you’ on it, placing it back on the desk.

It was the first gift I’d ever received as an adult. I hadn’t celebrated a birthday for years; who was there to celebrate with? I sat in my room that night and lingered over every line, tracing my fingers over the ones that touched me the most and wondering which ones had touched him.

A few days later, it was something slightly less romantic:

_Where did you put my pen?_

I had cleaned it the day before; the tip had gotten thick with dried ink, and really, I’d even considered tossing it and going downstairs to search for another. He tended to chew on the feather at the tip, and it was starting to break. I wondered how he’d managed to write the note, but supposed he’d sent for the one I now held in my hand—which was really quite sad, considering how close my room was to his.

 _Bottom drawer on the right,_ I wrote. _Try to clean it out every now and then._

 _Yes, Mother_ , he replied.

It was all rather ridiculous. Once I found a sweet roll with a note that said, ‘In recognition of services rendered.’ I didn’t know whether to be annoyed or amused and settled on something in between the two. (I was still being paid, by the way, the same weekly stipend I’d been receiving since I’d first left the kitchens.) I also quite enjoyed it, as such delicacies weren’t generally available for staff.

Sometimes the notes would clearly hint that he was watching me in the mornings during my sessions with Galmar. At first, they were very practical, like _Lower your sword arm before ducking_ and _Galmar took an injury in the last war—he favors his left knee._ But sometimes they were simply complimentary.

 _Your form is improving_ , he wrote after I’d been laboring in the ring with Galmar for at least two weeks. _It is a pleasure to watch you_.

I didn’t respond to that one.

All the while, the threat of war loomed closer and closer with each passing day. Ever since coming to Skyrim I was used to eagerly anticipating the arrival of spring, but for the first time, I began to dread it. The return of the sun and the melting of the snow meant that the Stormcloaks would finally march, taking with them the only person I truly cared for in the world. Even worse, I could not express my fear or my grief; I had no friends, no confidants, and the person I had unwittingly fallen in love with wanted nothing to do with me—or so I thought.

I wasn’t a fool. I could see that he did care for me. Yet I continued to think him a coward (half-hating him, half-loving him still) for banishing me from his company. There could be no other reason for doing so than because I was his servant and a “gray-skin.” Kissing me had been an impulsive act which he had immediately regretted—a mistake. After all, one could not go off to war against the elves whilst taking one to your bed each night. Yet half the castle already assumed we were lovers, and this was what continued to dumbfound and frustrate me. Then again, what did soldiers and servants have to do with war? Helgird and Ulfric had both made me understand that wars needed money, and the most money came from the people who hated people like me. The guests whose rooms I’d once tended and the rich families who dined downstairs and refused to let me touch the dead bodies of their loved ones—perhaps it was simply that they could never know of the unnatural affection their jarl had for a nothing like me.

Finally, the morning came when I trudged downstairs, prepared to have the sleepiness beat out of me as per usual, yet Galmar was nowhere to be found. A recruit saw me blinking in the weak sunlight at the eerily empty ring, all my armor strapped into place as usual, my sword and dagger in hand—and paused to helpfully explain.

“He’s needed elsewhere,” she said, her own arms full of supplies. “We leave tomorrow—didn’t you hear?”

I hadn’t.

Panic gripped the back of my throat, squeezing my insides painfully. I nodded and thanked her. I walked back to the make-shift armory and slowly removed my armor. Galmar normally had me clean it before replacing it, but there would be no need today. I set the short sword and dagger down beside the other items and went back out into the yard.

It was true. I don’t know how I hadn’t noticed beforehand. The place was abuzz with activity, soldiers running to and fro, making last minute preparations. Someone cried out that this was the last call for letters to home; the post carriage was leaving at noon. One of the lieutenants barked at his soldiers to check their gear one more time.

I went back upstairs.

There was nothing for me to do. I lay on my bed with Bjald Song-Smith’s poems clutched to my chest and stared at the ceiling, at nothing. Tomorrow they would all be gone. Galmar, Griselda, everyone seemed to think I was going with them, but I’d never had this confirmed to me. And if I _was_ asked to go? The very thought of it terrified me. I knew nothing of war; I didn’t want to be anywhere near the sounds of battle, of injured and dying men and women crying out for their loved ones and to their gods.

And for what? To continue to exist in this ugly limbo, of serving a man who made me weak every time our eyes met (however rare that was these days), but never being allowed to speak to him as I once had? And suppose he should fall in battle? Who would remember to bring the news to a _servant_? And what recourse would that servant have but to lose his heart all over again, and weep once he was alone once more, and go from there gods know where?

It would be better to remain here, I thought. Griselda would assign me a new position. Or perhaps I might find work elsewhere; she had promised to assist me if I wished it. What sort of work? Service work, naturally, as that was what I was trained to do and had spent the last three years or so of my life doing. Yes, servant to another Nord, or perhaps a Nord family, one who called me “gray-skin” and made me eat in the kitchen, separate from their human servants.

I rolled over, hugging these self-indulgent, bitter thoughts to my chest along with my book. And there my eyes spied, sitting on the tiny desk beside the bookshelf (filled mostly with books I didn’t own), was a note.

I blinked and sat up. After a second, I got up and went to pick it up.

_I know I have little right to ask anything of you, yet I ask it anyway. I fear I will be very late, for there are many preparations still to make. Please wait for me tonight. I have something I must tell you._

I held the letter in my hands, reading and re-reading it yet again. I didn’t know what to think. Something to tell me? What could it be? There was a finality to his words that both warmed and chilled me. The fact that he wanted to see me in private filled me with sad hope—hope that I really tried very vainly to smother. Yet it also clearly meant that this was good-bye. Indeed, tonight may be the last I ever saw of him.

That day for me was a restless blur. I was hesitant to enter his apartment and continue with my old job as if nothing had happened. Suppose he were there now? My stomach turned in nervous anticipation; he would certainly be there tonight, and I would have to speak to him, face-to-face. We would, presumably, be alone together, as we had been for most of our friendship. I did a great deal of pacing in my own room and staring anxiously out the window at the bleak gray early spring morning. Eventually, I harassed some of the other servants on the third floor and convinced them to let me help them instead. That was rather interesting in and of itself, as it gave me the opportunity to meet Galmar’s youngest daughter while helping their own servant tidy up their rooms.

“You’re Uncle Ulfric’s Distraction!” she said, her eyes widening with apparent delight in recognizing me. “Father talks about you all the time.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I muttered under my breath.

“Are you going with them?” she asked. “My two oldest sisters are. I’m going to miss them, but Mother says they’re to bring glory to Skyrim and to our family. I’m proud of them, but…”

I took a deep, steadying breath, doing my best not to meet her eyes as I tucked the bed coverings into her parents’ bed.

“I know,” I said, trying to keep my voice light. “We’ll all have someone to miss. But they wouldn’t be very happy if they stayed, so it’s up to us to wish them well and wait for them to come back home to us.”

“So you’re not going with them,” she said, sitting on the edge of the bed.

I shook my head.

“I’m just a servant,” I said, distressed at how rough my voice had become. “Servants don’t go to war.”

She sighed. “Neither do 12-year-old girls, apparently.”

I couldn’t help laughing at this and ruffling her hair as I passed, no doubt irritating her profusely, as I understand that girls are rather particular about their hair at that age.

I actually ate lunch with the rest of the third floor staff; there was a little room where it was served each day, and I usually just took my portion and left, but today I sat down with the others. I think I was just tired of hiding, of feeling shame for something I hadn’t even done. The worst thing I’d done since coming to this country was defend myself from men who would do me great harm. I wasn’t a criminal; I didn’t deserve censure just because the jarl had grown fond of me the way other men become fond of a favorite horse or hound.

“I overheard you tell Nella you’re not leaving with the others tomorrow,” said Inga, the girl who tended to Galmar and his family’s rooms.

“That’s right,” I said, picking at my cheese and bread. My stomach was still a knot of anxiety, but fainting from hunger in front of the jarl tonight was something I’d rather avoid.

“But I thought you and Ulfric—

“We’re not,” I cut in. I lowered my bread and looked at the others, who were all staring curiously back at me now. “I know what the rumors are. But I’m not sleeping with the jarl. I never have, and I never will. I’m just his servant. And he hasn’t asked me to go and iron his furs while he’s off to war, so I’m not going.”

“But… you _want_ him to ask you, don’t you?” asked another, a Nord girl with unusually dark hair.

“No,” I said, feeling myself getting irritated, despite my earlier convictions. “I don’t.”

“Well if you aren’t his lover, then what were you doing in his apartment for two days? Everyone knows you were there.”

Oh—I’d quite forgotten that that had been my cover those first few nights after the attack in the city. Now instead of irritated I began to feel flustered, and I could feel my cheeks start to redden.

“It’s personal,” I finally said, and I tried to ignore the way they rolled their eyes at one another.

“He seems to really like you,” said Inga. “Once this war is won, though, I see a political marriage in your near future. If you’re lucky, the new High Queen won’t mind you, but you never know.”

“So what happens when half the residents on this floor disappear tomorrow?” I asked, trying to change the subject and chase the warmth from my face. “Will Griselda reassign us?”

“She will for some,” said the young man who cleaned the steward’s rooms, “But you won’t lose your position, don’t worry. We’re not as expendable as those downstairs folk.”

Which was how I knew then that they hadn’t the faintest clue where I’d originated from, but I suppose that was all right with me. How unsurprising that even the servants looked down on one another based on who they worked for and where they’d come from. I don’t know if it’s a human thing, a Nord thing, or a simple pettiness shared by all the races. But I suppose it shows we’re never as far from the animals as we sometimes think we are.

Eventually, evening came.

I nearly skipped dinner, but ultimately forced myself to eat an apple and a few pieces of salted meat. I sat in my room and re-read Bjald’s poetry until I felt myself still and calm enough to proceed. I then took a deep breath, checked my uniform for stains, finger-combed my eternally messy hair, and made myself make the fifteen feet or so journey from my door to his.

“He isn’t in at the moment,” said the guard who saw me come to knock. “Hasn’t been up since this morning.”

“Oh,” I said, suddenly feeling as if all the wind had been metaphorically let from my sails.

“Could I…?” I asked after a moment, resting my hand on the door and fixing him with a probably way-too-hopefully look.

In return, he looked at me as if I’d lost my mind.

“Since when do you bother even asking?” he asked.

I flushed, feeling sheepish, and nodded before turning the heavy handle and letting myself inside.

Nothing had really changed since I’d last been here. It was perhaps a bit messier; the man couldn’t go 24 hours without making an absolute disaster of the sitting room, and there were two days’ worth of documents spread out all over the desk in the study. I tidied them without thinking, spotting requisition notices, army accounts, and notes from the various generals—the articles of war. The sight made my stomach drop a little, and I hastily turned away from it all.

I brought some of the articles of clothing he’d flung about the sitting room back into the bedroom, replacing them in their proper trunks, closets, and baskets. I went into the washroom next and put the damp drying cloths in the hamper. The tub could really use a scrubbing; it had been over a week since I’d done it last. I almost thought about running the water and fetching a bit of lye, but then I saw myself in the large looking glass over the sink—something many of the guest rooms don’t even have, by the way—and just had to stop.

What was I doing? I wasn’t here to clean. Maybe it was time I stopped pretending that my relationship with the High King was simply that of master and servant.

I went and sat down on the edge of the immense bed, even lying back and staring up at the canopy above it after a while. Why did his note have to be so cryptic? Why did he feel he had to leave a note at all? He had to have waited for me to go downstairs before placing it in my room. It was almost as if he were afraid to be alone with me. Bitter, sulky thoughts permeated my brain. He was disgusted with me, perhaps, disgusted with himself for what he had done. Or he was reluctant to let the guards see him enter my room. But neither of these really made any sense, nor did any of the other nonsensical ideas I managed to cook up in my head.

I turned over on my side, curling my legs up under me, and eyed the Dwemer clock on the bedroom mantle. It was nearly half-past ten. Where was he?

Tired, more from the stress of the situation than the hour of the day, I closed my eyes and strained my ears to listen to the sounds of the waves crashing far below. Suppose he did not return at all tonight. Suppose he left tomorrow with the army, and I never saw him again. I knew then, my throat closing as the thought crept up within me, that I would be leaving. I would not wait for someone who did not want me.

I must have fallen asleep at some point, because the next thing I knew, someone was drawing a blanket over me. I stirred, opening my eyes (which I’m ashamed to admit were a little bit glued together with dried tears) and staring up into the solemn face of the king.

“My apologies,” he said. “I was away much longer than I had anticipated.”

I sat up, the blanket falling into my lap, and he, after hesitating for a moment, sat beside me. It was strange to see him exhibit such uncertainty—earlier, I would have said it was not in his nature to do.

“You’re leaving tomorrow,” I said, and I was surprised by the earnest sadness in my own voice.

“I am. There was much to prepare for. It will be a difficult journey south, as the snow is still newly melted, and it will be hard on those without mounts.”

We were both silent, neither of us knowing what to say to that, I suppose, when after a moment, he put his hand on my shoulder and stood up again.

“I have something to show you,” he said, squeezing my shoulder gently before walking back out of the room. I don’t know if I was meant to follow, but I chose not to. He was almost immediately back, sitting back down beside me, a letter bearing rather fancy-looking script in his hand. I admit I was a bit of a snoop and sometimes read the opened letters he received, but I must have missed this one—or else he’d kept it somewhere safe even from me.

“Several weeks ago, I wrote to Savos Aren, the Arch-Mage at the College of Winterhold. I told him to expect a new student sometime in the coming weeks.” He looked at me. “This is his letter confirming the receipt of my own.”

I frowned.

“The College of Winterhold?”

“Yes. Winterhold is a city somewhat far to the north and west of here. It faces the Sea of Ghosts. I am afraid it is quite cold.”

“Arch-Mage,” I said, realizing. “It’s a college of magic?”

“The only one in Skyrim that I am aware of.”

I hadn’t had any idea such places existed. A faint thrill washed over me—imagine visiting such a place! The depth of knowledge it must hold within its treasured walls alone was enough to make my heart beat just a little bit faster.

“Tomorrow,” he continued, “when my army and I depart for the south, you will leave, too, if you wish. But you will be headed to Winterhold, with two of my best warriors to guide you.”

I sat in stunned silence, my eyes dropping from his face to the letter he was still holding out to me. I took it, scanning it quickly, and sure enough, I saw my name:

 _We will be pleased to accept young Casien Yedlin as a student here at the College_ , the elegant script said. _Though we do not necessarily accept every person who applies, the assurances of Ulfric Stormcloak, jarl of Windhelm, should suffice as adequate recommendation._

“You will be safe from the outcome of this war, whatever it may be,” the king continued, even as I stared at the words before me in disbelief. “Savos and his school have no interest in politics. Winterhold’s jarl supports me, but if the worst should happen, Elisif will not allow the Imperials to attack the college. It would be a fool’s errand in any case. None have ever dared to do so and lived to tell about it.”

It was too much. I was overwhelmed with what had just been lain before me: not only that such a college even existed, but that I would be going there—if I so wished. That the king had written to the Arch-Mage, which I was quite certain was a title of some importance, perhaps even _the_ most important title there, and requested a place for me. He had done this, _for me_ : the person I thought he cared for, yes, but not enough to… not enough.

I looked up at him after a while.

“Why?” I asked, still too bewildered to get my thoughts fully into place.

“Casien…” He closed his eyes briefly, sighing. “You do not seem to know this. But you are a powerful mage. There is no one here to teach you how to harness that power. And you need a teacher, for your own protection, if nothing else.”

“I thought that’s what my training was for,” I said stubbornly. “You said I didn’t need magic to defend myself. Why else did I let myself get tossed around by Galmar for the past two months?”

He frowned at me.

“What is this?” he asked. “I expected this news to be met with pleasure. Why so—

“I want to go with _you_!” I blurted out, and I ought to have been ashamed of the outburst, but I wasn’t.

There they were: my feelings, out in the open, laid bare for him to see. My hand half-squeezed the letter I still held as I tried in vain to control my emotions.

“Why can I not come with you?” I continued. “What have I ever done to displease you or make you hate me? I never asked for anything more than to serve you or to be your friend. I thought we _were_ friends, but now you would send me away as if you can’t stand the sight of me!”

I glared at him, a part of me deeply terrified that my anger would spill into tears any second now.

“It was all a lie, wasn’t it?” I spat. “The friendship, the kindness—meeting every day to talk, listening to me as if you cared. Bringing me here when I needed you most. Kissing me, then running away from me as if you couldn’t believe you’d done something so disgusting!”

He stared at me, clearly taken aback.

“How could you think this of me?” he asked.

He stood up, turning away from me for a moment, the fingers of his right hand running through his tangled yellow hair.

“I have tried to behave as I should,” he said, his voice rough, almost as if he were angry at himself. “But it proved impossible. _You_ are…”

He trailed off, biting the inside of his cheek as he turned to stare at me.

He looked away again, shaking his head.

“I convinced myself that my feelings were one-sided. If I distanced myself from you I could learn to get over them, and spare you as well. I will _not_ leave a lover here. War does not care about lovers and families. You have only to ask the husbands and wives of the soldiers who never came home from the Great War to know that this is true!”

If I was stunned by this admission, I was stunned even more by the hurt I heard in his voice and saw in his eyes. All this time, I really _had_ been blind—blind to the truth of how he really felt. When he looked at me, he looked at me with love and admiration. It was present in the warmth of his voice, in the gentleness of his touch. He loved me, and had for some time now, only I had been blind to it—fool that I was.

“Don’t you think I deserve to have a say in this?” I asked, standing up, my anger resurfacing. “I can handle a sword now. Maybe I’m no soldier, but I’m not some helpless kitten that needs squirreling away! Maybe if you had bothered to ask me I would have said yes. Instead you led me to believe you cared about me, and then you turned your back on me! Do you know what that felt like?”

“Yes, I was wrong,” he said. “I was careless with your feelings, though I did not mean to be. But do not speak to me of soldiering, little roebuck. For a little roebuck you are, innocent and naïve as the newly fallen snow! No,” he growled, turning away from me. “I _will not leave_ a lover here!”

I stared at his broad back, my fingers curling into fists. I could feel my own pain and anger seething through me, not unlike the white-hot electric magic that had once coursed through me.

“It’s too late for that, you stubborn old bear. Because I love you, and losing you to the war won’t change that. You do realize that everyone— _every_ one—already thinks we’re together. Well, the only reason we aren’t is because _you_ haven’t made love to me yet. And that is the _only_ reason.”

Those were bold words, and I blushed to speak them, but my temper and feelings were high, too. I couldn’t _not_ speak them because they were true. He _was_ a foolish old bear if he thought not physically touching me would change how either of us felt about one another. It wouldn’t change how we would feel once we separated tomorrow, nor how one of us would feel should the worst come to happen.

He still hadn’t turned around. I lowered my head, biting my lip to stay the faint tremor I could feel there. I wasn't going to lose face in front of him again.

“Do you want me to go,” I finally said.

I was angry, and already anticipated his answer.

“…No,” he said, startling me.

He seemed to take a breath before turning, our eyes meeting. After a moment, he reached a hand up, fingertips brushing my face as though afraid he might break me.

“I may not come back,” he said, and I saw the fear and pain in his eyes—fear and pain for me, should his death come to pass. “I would place no burdens on you.”

“Love isn’t a burden,” I said. “You are the most wonderful thing that’s ever happened to me. And I would rather mourn something I’ve lost than never to have felt it at all.”

He smiled with his eyes more than anything, the corners of his lips twitching ever so slightly. Again, he was hesitant, as if still unsure of this happening between us right up until the very end. I didn’t rush him—he was the kind of man who needed to move at his own pace, to make his own decisions. Eventually, he sighed as though he’d been defeated—it was funny, in a way, though my heart ached for him—and put one large hand on my waist, the other cupping the back of my neck, and kissed me.

I clung to him as I had the first time we kissed, only this time he did not push me away. I opened my mouth to his, his tongue exploring my own, and I moaned, pressing myself against him.

He pulled away, laughing gently against my lips.

“Eager little roebuck,” he murmured, and I bit his bottom lip, startling him and making him laugh again.

His hands slipped below my hips and I obligingly circled my arms around his neck as we resumed kissing so he could pick me up and carry me back to the bed. He liked to tease, but I could feel that he was just as eager as I was. I don’t know how often I’d imagined being intimate with him on his bed, the feel of the soft furs cushioning my skin, the heat of his body over mine… now that it was happening, my head was too full of him; he was too near me, and I him.

I ran my hands over his warm skin, marveling at how smooth it was, my fingertips brushing over the occasional raised scar or sliding through the dark blond hairs on his chest. He touched me, too, gently and tenderly at first, then with increasing desire, his hand folding around my wrist as we began to make love, his lips pressing against my chin, neck, and shoulders. I cried out at the end of it, and he groaned deeply not long after, pressing against me one final time.

He was conscientious enough to not collapse on top of me and instead lay beside me as we both tried to regain our breaths.

“Stubborn old bear,” I eventually said, closing my eyes and smiling as I panted. “We could have been doing that for months.”

He laughed, the sound rumbling through his chest.

“I shall pray to the Nine, then, to stretch out time, so that this night may go on forever.” He brushed the back of his fingers against my cheek, our eyes locking. “So I will never have to part from you ever again.”

His words caused a great, deep sadness to bloom inside me, and I sighed and turned to bury my head against his chest. I felt his arms curl around me, his lips pressing against my forehead through my messy hair.

“I wish you could stay,” I said, whispering the words into the warm darkness between us as if they were a terrible secret.

He didn’t answer, only combed his fingers through my hair. It was strange to feel so very happy and yet so very sad at the same time.

“So,” he said after a while, “Will you go to Winterhold?”

“Yes,” I said, for I knew what the answer must be, and I think he knew what my answer would be, too.

He sighed, his arm around me squeezing me lightly.

“I wanted to spare you this,” he said. “I’m sorry I could not.”

“Don’t be sorry,” I replied, lifting my head so our eyes could meet. “Just promise me you’ll write to me as often as you can. And,” I lifted my hand, placing it over his mouth before he could respond, “Promise me you won’t die.”

His eyes regarding mine were infinitely sad, and instead of answering he kissed the hand over his mouth before moving it aside and kissing me again. I let him, because I knew that was the only way he could truly answer me without giving me pain, and he loved me too much to not avoid hurting me if he could.

We had joked about extending time, but I still profess to this day that that night felt as if it were the longest of my life. We did more than make love again; we talked, we held one another… he asked me to sing the lullaby he’d first heard me singing, all those months ago, so I did, softly: _‘I carry your heart with me, my heart / wherever you go, my dear, I go. Here is the secret nobody knows: I carry your heart with me, and wherever you go, I go.’_

Some might call the general of a great army foolish for engaging in such activities the night before the great march, when he ought to be getting a good night’s sleep, preparing himself for the long series of battles to come. But I suspect we were not the only ones sharing one final embrace (first as well as last, for us, I suppose) that night; indeed, I imagine all of Windhelm held its breath collectively, kissed and held its loved ones, and prayed to the gods that all would one day be well again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. There is a reference to my favorite Elizabeth Barrett Browning poem, Sonnet XXIX, somewhere here. See if you can find it ;)
> 
> 2\. The lullaby lyrics are taken from e. e. cummings' "i carry your heart with me."


	13. Chapter 13

I was still used to rising with the sun, sometimes even before, and the morning of our mutual departure was no different.

What was different was waking with the feel of another man’s arms wrapped warmly around me, his large body curled securely around mine. His broad chest rose and fell gently against the curve of my back, his breath puffing against my hair and neck. I had not prayed since the night before Helgird found me, but that morning I sent a desperate plea to both Mara and Azura, begging them to let this moment last forever—at least in my memory, if nowhere else.

I turned after a while, as carefully as possible, so I could look at the person I loved. His features were difficult to make out in the near darkness (the drapes covering the windows were quite heavy, and the fire had fallen to embers), but I did my best to memorize them. I softly traced the heavy brow, the delicate brown eyelashes, the slightly crooked aquiline nose. I studied lips that had kissed my own so tenderly, and then so passionately, that I began to ache to feel them pressing against my own again.

“Are you quite finished?” rumbled the voice of my lover, those same lips curling ever so slightly, his clear blue eyes opening to stare back at me.

“I’m trying to memorize you,” I said.

I rested my palm gently against his cheek, my thumb tickling through his soft beard.

“Shall I give you something to remember me by?” he asked, the amusement dancing in his eyes only half-preparing me for the warm hand that slid down my back and gripped below my hip.

Of course, morning lovemaking turned to morning cuddling, and I think, other than the long repression of feelings, our reluctance to part from one another had more to do with what the future might hold for us. I know we were both thinking it, even if we couldn’t say it: this may be the last time I hold him in my arms. This may be the last time I feel his skin pressed against my own, the last time I feel his heart beating through his chest.

“You _will_ write to me,” I said, reiterating the more serious promise I had attempted to extract from him the previous night.

“As often as I can,” he replied.

“But I won’t be able to answer you.”

The realization struck me, and brought me very low just then—how would he know that I had ever received his letters? Suppose something were to happen to me? He would not know of it until the war were over, and I knew that that was unlikely to be very soon.

He was silent for a moment, then: “Do you know Azura’s Star?”

I frowned.

“Do you mean the actual star that’s situated beneath The Steed and can only be seen at dawn or dusk, or do you mean the magical artifact, that’s said to—

“The star, little roebuck, the star,” he said, amusement tickling his voice. “Every morning and every evening, I shall look for it. I shall say to your goddess, ‘You must look after the one who belongs to me, for he belongs to you as well.’ Now, you will do the same: find the star each day and night, and know that when you are staring up at it, I am as well.”

“I think I can do that,” I said, my throat already closing a little.

It was sweet, and it was romantic, and it was oh so very sad. But it was something.

Truly, I don’t know how long we would have lingered in bed that gray morning. Ulfric Stormcloak was a man of iron will and conviction, known to accomplish anything he set his mind to. (This is the trait of his that I would generally more mundanely refer to as ‘stubborn.’) But even he seemed to be having difficulty convincing himself to leave his bed, and I’m sure I wasn’t much help in that regard. Luckily for the Stormcloak army, we were interrupted (merely from gazing soulfully, sadly, and lovingly at one another, I’ll admit) by the sound of the outer door barging open.

“Ulfric Stormcloak!” bellowed a familiar rough voice.

My eyes widened, and I immediately pulled the blankets up over my head without even thinking. Beside me, my bedmate didn’t even move, save to lift himself up casually on one elbow.

Heavy footsteps marched through the study and straight into the bedroom before pausing.

“So! Still lazing about in bed, I see.”

“Galmar,” said Ulfric, sounding neither angry nor embarrassed— _guarded amusement_ is probably the only term I could come up with for the tone of voice he was using.

“Came to see if you’d changed your mind about securing Skyrim’s freedom. Seeing as how most of the barracks are up and ready to go while you’re still lying naked in bed.”

“An army moves when its jarl is ready, Galmar. Not the other way around.”

The older of the two men harrumphed under his breath.

“There a reason your bed sheets are breathing?” he asked.

“I would imagine there is.”

“Aye, so would I. Noticed the elf boy’s room is empty. I wonder where he might’ve got to.”

“I wonder,” came the lazy reply.

“I’m nineteen years old!” I couldn’t help shouting from my position under the blankets. “The same age as your eldest daughter!”

“That hardly helps your cause,” murmured the king.

“Well,” said Galmar, speaking as if he hadn’t heard either of us, “If you happen to find him, bring him downstairs to breakfast. The other generals and lieutenants are all down there with their families. Jorlief’s idea, clever bastard.”

“I’ll be sure to be there,” replied his friend.

I sighed once he left and pushed the bed coverings back past my chest. That was surely the definitive end of our perfect morning.

Ulfric looked down at me with amusement.

“Come.” He tweaked my nose, probably just to annoy me after my outburst. “Galmar is right. It’s time we start the day, for better or for worse.”

Though I preferred to linger and watch him walk about the apartment naked, he convinced me to return to my own rooms and get ready. This would be the last bath we’d both take for a long while, for example, (and him far longer than me), so we had best enjoy it. A servant would be sent to pack my belongings for the journey to Winterhold; that made me feel a little self-conscious, as I didn’t like to think of someone else doing my work for me. But I was apparently to leave as soon as breakfast finished, and there would be no time for packing.

I was also instructed to dress warmly, so I did, though I wasn’t sure how much protection my simple fur-lined wool cloak would be on the road. My boots, too, were plain, but at least my toes wouldn’t freeze from frostbite. I had gloves that I rarely wore but supposed I had best bring them along.

I was sitting on my bed and staring at my little library, half of which I would have to say good-bye to since the books didn’t belong to me, when a knock to my door startled me.

I got up to answer it, expecting a fellow servant arrived to begin packing, but it was the king.

He arched an eyebrow at me.

“Ready?”

I took a deep breath and nodded.

“I think so,” I said.

He regarded me for a little while, then reached out, tilting my chin up with two gentle fingers, and kissed me.

We gazed at one another through half-lidded eyes for a moment. I knew what that was: a fortifying kiss. And I suppose I needed it.

“Better?” he asked, and I nodded.

“Good. Then come.” His mouth curled into a faint smirk. “Our debut awaits.”

Our debut! I hadn’t yet thought of that, and oh, he was quite serious, as instead of allowing me to lag behind him, he placed his large palm between my shoulders and forced me to walk by his side. We passed two other servants as we made our way to the stairs; they both gave me a double-take, but of course had been trained to not stare, especially at their king, so their eyes quickly averted.

Naturally, we did not take the servants’ stairs, and so I was marched through the main hallways and stairwells as if I were a guest or a person of some importance instead of a simple servant. It was not a little bit mortifying, but it helped that I wasn’t alone. The person beside me was my strength, and I suspect I was his. Prying eyes and wagging tongues were surely the least of our troubles.

“And there he is!” shouted Galmar as soon as we entered the throne room, “It’s about time.”

“Don’t heckle your king,” said his wife, but I could tell from that haughty expression on her face that she wasn’t angry at all, and that she was doing everything she could to appear strong and composed.

They were surrounded by their myriad daughters, two dressed as soldiers and ready to accompany their father “for the glory of Skyrim,” as their sister had said. Further down the table were men and women of a similar age and set, their faces grim and rough—these were the generals of the Stormcloak army, and they, too, sat accompanied by those who loved them most. Not all of these loved ones were Nords, either, so I did not feel so out-of-place. There was even one (very, very beautiful) Altmer woman.

“So this is the one you’ve all been talking about,” said one fierce-looking middle-aged woman, her hair shaved at the sides and a massive scar crisscrossing her nose. “He looks as though you might break him, Ulfric.”

“I can be gentle,” said the king, sitting down at the head of the table and no doubt pretending to be oblivious to my horrified red face.

“Well are you going to sit or stand there and gape like a fish all morning?” growled Galmar, so I sat before him, for he sat at his usual place to the right of the jarl, and I now sat to the left.

“Taking him with you, are you?” asked another old soldier.

“Couldn’t talk him into it,” replied Galmar, “Though I wasted two months of my life teaching the whelp to hold a sword so he wouldn’t slice himself open with it.”

“Don’t mind them,” said his wife, leaning over and speaking to me, “They’ve all known each other for years, ever since the Great War. They like to talk as if we aren’t here.”

“That’s because we’re afraid of you!” cried another man, and all the soldiers laughed, their wives and husbands beaming with pride and affection.

“I’m glad you’re not going,” said Nella, who was sitting to my left. “Maybe we can visit one another. My other sisters are boring, and there aren’t any other children on the third floor.”

I coughed, smiling.

“Don’t you think I’m a little too old for you?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said, giving me a look—as if I were an idiot for even asking. “But you’re nice, and I don’t have anyone else to talk to besides Mother.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, really meaning it, too. “But I’m going to be leaving soon, too.”

“Where to?”

“Well…” I hesitated. I wasn’t sure if it would be prudent to admit that I would soon be attending a college of magic. “I’m afraid I can’t say. But I won’t stay away forever.”

Breakfast was a hearty affair, and everyone dove into it with gusto. Being served was awkward—I knew some of the other servants, and they clearly knew me, but not a single one of them deigned to meet my eye. I suppose they could have simply been adhering to protocol; I could well recall being instructed not to look at or speak to any of the guests at dinner. But I can’t imagine it pleased them to be asked to serve one of their own as if he were a prince and not a servant.

I was relieved, too, to be sitting by Nella, who talked my head off as young people her age tend to do, and it was a relief to speak to someone who didn’t see me as anyone other than her uncle’s ‘special friend.’ She talked about the horse her father had got for her, about the new gowns her mother had promised her, about how she wanted to be a soldier like her sisters, but that she liked dancing and singing, too. I assured her that one could both carry a sword and carry a tune, though I sadly could do neither.

“I disagree,” said the king, apparently listening in on our conversation. “For I have seen you do one and heard you do the other.”

“You’re a little biased, though, Uncle,” she said.

“Biased?” asked her mother, noticing our conversation now that it included the king. “What do you accuse your uncle of being biased of, child?”

“Of Casien, and his many talents,” replied Nella.

“I don’t know about _many_ ,” I said, feeling embarrassed and wondering why her ‘uncle’ hadn’t yet responded.

“Love does not make a person biased, my girl,” returned the mother, “It makes you see the beauty others might miss. After all, who else could ever look at your father and think him worth having?”

“Keep at it, woman,” growled her husband before jamming another piece of meat pie into his mouth.

Like our time together this morning, I found myself wishing the moment would never end. I was the sort of person who rarely felt as if he truly belonged—a dreamer and an introvert, some might call me, a misanthrope if you were feeling less kind. But in that moment, I felt as if I were genuinely among friends, despite the fact that, aside from the king, I hadn’t known anyone here for more than a few months, and some I had met only that day. It was a sad thought to realize that I would be leaving them all very soon.

But breakfast couldn’t last forever. Here some of the soldiers bid their loved ones a last good-bye; others accompanied them back to the barracks. Galmar’s wife, whose name was Lia, was one of these—and so, apparently, was I.

A nod from the king indicated that I was to come with them, so I did, after, of course, exchanging a very solemn and hearty handshake with young Nella. Lia separated herself from her two eldest daughters for a moment and came to walk beside me.

“It is tradition,” she explained, “for us to arm and gird our loved ones before they leave for war.”

I flushed, for a number of reasons.

“I don’t know how to do that,” I said.

She patted my back lightly.

“He will help you,” she said before moving forward to rejoin her daughters. The jarl and her husband led the procession, those generals and lieutenants who were not camped outside the city following close behind.

Outside, the soldiers who had garrisoned here were lining up, their superiors barking orders. Restless horses stomped their feet and blew hot breath into the cold air. Here and there a soldier broke a final embrace with a tearful beloved before hurrying to his or her place.

“All hail High King Ulfric!” cried one of the lieutenants as we entered the yard, and as one every soldier turned toward us and shouted, each pressing a fist over his or her heart. I noticed the spouses of the generals lifting their heads a bit higher, but I couldn’t help feeling a chill rush over me at the sight. How many of these soldiers would never return home? Ulfric believed the war was necessary, and I do think every man and woman here felt the same way, else they would not have followed him so passionately. But I couldn’t help thinking of all the lovers who would be forever parted after today, and of all the bodies that would never find their way back home.

We passed through the yard and entered the armory, where each general and lieutenant had had their arms and armor waiting at the ready. I paused, watching as they paired off, for the most part, though Galmar’s younger daughter accompanied her father and mother, while the eldest stood with a pretty young woman whose hands trembled as she carefully dressed her brave-faced beloved.

“Casien.”

I turned at the sound of my lover’s voice and nodded, swallowing.

There was a small alcove reserved for the jarl, and there his armor hung, alongside his longsword. First was the mail, which lay over the tunic and the gambeson. Then the various bits of armor: the breastplate, the pauldrons, the greaves. He helped me as we methodically added each one, his large hands guiding my own, showing me where to buckle this or that strap.

And then, apparently, it was my turn.

I was not to be fully armored as I was during practice, but he surprised me by having me pull a finely made gambeson over my tunic; he then strapped a sword belt around my waist, and in the scabbard he slid a short sword, and beneath it he affixed a dagger. I could see that both were very fine weapons, newly crafted, too, their hilts bearing the image of the Bear of Eastmarch, which I had only previously seen etched into the arms and armor of the king. In addition to these, I had a pair of leather braces affixed around my wrists beneath my gloves, and leather greaves under my boots.

There was a pause then, both of us standing before one another—and we weren’t the only silent ones; the other couples and families were quiet, though there were a few murmuring voices. I didn’t know what to say. I looked up at him, and our eyes met.

He cupped his gloved hands around my face, his thumbs tracing over my cheeks. I blinked and fought vainly against the tears I could feel coming. He lowered his head, our foreheads momentarily pressing together, before kissing me, gently, lingeringly.

He lowered his hands, and I let out a breath, stealing myself. I looked up at him again, and he nodded.

Outside, someone had brought our horses—I confess I had never ridden one before, and it hadn’t remotely occurred to me that I would be doing so on the journey to Winterhold. The family members mounted as well as the generals and lieutenants, and I understood that we would all right out together, through town, the garrisoned army marching behind us.

I swallowed as I stood before the gray gelding that was to carry me from here to my new home.

“I’ve never ridden before,” I said, keeping my voice low, for I was worried the confession would shame my proud lover.

Of course I was a fool for thinking such a thing.

“He is strong but gentle,” said the king. “Galmar’s daughters learned to ride on him. He will carry you safely.”

I nodded and walked up to the saddle, which seemed impossibly high, Nord horses being taller and hardier, I believe, than their southern cousins or the sturdy ponies and burros we had on Solstheim. Even the stirrup seemed too high; there was no way I could possibly lift my foot that high.

“Here,” he said, putting his hand on my back and guiding me forward, “Put your hands on the saddle, and grasp it. Good. Now place your left foot here.”

He cupped his hands, the gesture likely surprising some of those who were watching. I did as he asked with much trepidation.

“Ready?” he asked, and when I nodded, he flung me easily up and into the saddle—which felt as if it were splitting my legs in half, but that was just something I would have to get used to.

“Hold the reins loosely—hold the saddle, if you must, but do not pull on his mouth. He needs little guidance.”

Once seemingly satisfied that I wasn’t going to fall off, he then mounted his own horse. He and Galmar led the way, then Lia came and rounded the four of us up: me, her two daughters, and the oldest daughter’s lover. We rode behind them, with the generals and their families following us.

The drums began to beat as we exited the castle grounds. I could hear the men and women marching behind us, some beginning to sing or chant. There was singing outside the walls of the castle, too; the citizens of Windhelm were lined up in the streets, watching as we passed. Some called out blessings from the gods, some wished glory upon Ulfric Stormcloak and his army. Windhelm, for all its problems, was a city populated by many different peoples, and there were a fair number of mer as well as men and women who had gathered to see us off. But there were few, if any, Dunmer, which ought to have come as no surprise.

All the while, I kept my eyes on the man before me. Beside me, I heard Lia say to her daughter’s lover, “Dry your eyes, child. They must not see us weep.”

Once outside the city, I was taken aback by the sheer number of soldiers who stood in formation at the ready. Many had come from smaller towns and cities to meet up with the main army, and together they would march south, first to Whiterun, then west and north, subduing any Imperial strongholds until they arrived at Solitude—assuming the Imperial army did not meet them first.

Here was where I would finally depart. There were two mounted soldiers waiting, a packhorse behind them carrying all my worldly possessions. The king maneuvered his great black warhorse beside mine, and I felt a wild sudden flurry of emotions as his eyes met mine: this was it. Here, before the entire Stormcloak army, he and I would say our final good-byes. _They must not see us weep_. I swallowed, and bit down hard on the inside of my bottom lip.

“How does the song go?” he murmured lowly to me, his eyes locking with mine. “‘I carry your heart with me… wherever you go, I go.’ Promise you will look for our star tonight.”

“I will,” I said, and my voice trembled, but I wasn’t ashamed. My heart was too full, too heavy for shame.

He surprised me then by reaching up with one hand and unclasping the heavy fur cloak from around his shoulders. His horse shied a little, but my sturdy gelding never even moved as he leaned over and lay the cloak around my own shoulders. It was warm, and carried his scent, and nearly swallowed me, the fur brushing up against my jaw.

He held my eyes one last time before turning his horse away from mine.

“I suppose that romantic soul of yours will keep you warm as we march, or do you have a spare?” growled Galmar.

His wife hushed him. I watched as they clasped hands briefly before separating, Galmar going to join the king at the head of the army. I sat silently on my horse and watched as their figures dwindled, swallowed by the massive army that marched behind them. When I could no longer see them, I turned my own horse and followed the two soldiers ordered to guide and protect me on my journey to Winterhold.

They were both kind enough to not remark on the dampness of my cheeks.


	14. Chapter 14

The sounds of the marching army stayed with us for some time, though we traveled in different directions. That didn’t make it any easier to forget all that I had left at the gates of Windhelm, most especially the person marching at the head of its army.

The two soldiers who traveled with me did not address me, I believe more out of respect than the opposite. They spoke lowly to one another, of the weather, of the coming journey, or of their own thoughts and concerns about the war. I wasn’t really capable of focusing on anything but my own thoughts at first, but eventually, I did begin to listen to them.

“Is there even a chance we’ll make it to Winterhold without hitting at least one heavy storm?” asked the taller one. She wore her long yellow hair in a loose bun, revealing an old scar just at the nape of her neck.

“Don’t say it aloud,” the other said, shuddering. “The gods will hear you and make it so, just to amuse themselves at our expense.”

Her own dark hair was twisted behind her head, and her brown skin hinted at a Redguard parent or grandparent.

“You’re so superstitious,” chastised her companion.

The blond, I learned, was named Hanna, the dark-haired one Ysme.

“That was rather romantic, wasn’t it,” Ysme remarked, after we’d been traveling for an hour or so.  
  
“Never thought I’d hear anyone use that word to describe the jarl.”

“It seems an odd choice, though, doesn’t it? A Dunmer?”

“Ysme, your father was a pirate from Hammerfell.”

“And? There’s nothing saying a Redguard can’t get on with a Nord. And my father was very handsome in his day. But you know how the dark elves are in Windhelm.”

“Bitter and shifty-eyed, like they’re constantly thinking about shivving you in the dark?”

Ysme laughed.

“You’re terrible. Well, you know what I mean. It isn’t exactly their fault. The way folk harass them and treat them as if they don’t belong.”

“I’m not saying I wouldn’t under _stand_ being shivved in the dark by a dark elf. Just that I’m not overly fond of the idea.”

“Aye, neither am I. Though I don’t suppose that one’s the type to shiv anyone. Rather pretty, but that’s an elf lad for you.”

“Are you saying we Nords don’t have pretty men?!”

They both laughed at that. Rather than feel annoyed or offended by their conversation, it rather endeared me to them. They seemed like good, honest folk, and I knew that they had to be trustworthy if Ulfric had entrusted them to this task.

“Anyway, if anyone’s doing the shivving, it has to be Ulfric,” said Hanna, “If you know what I mean.”

All right, maybe they weren’t so endearing as I’d thought.

Hanna snort-laughed at her own joke, and Ysme, grinning, reached over and smacked her on the arm—they were riding side-by-side, with me several feet behind.

“Hush,” she urged her friend, “He’ll hear you.”

“Sorry,” I said—really, staying silent at this point would have only made me feel guilty, “But I _can_ hear you.”

They both pulled their horses up and looked back at me in stunned silence. The pack horse that was tied to the saddle of one of the others took the opportunity to snack on a nearby snowberry bush.

“My lord,” stammered Hanna, “We’re ever so sorry—

“We didn’t—

“It’s all right,” I said, smiling despite myself. “I should have said something.”

Ysme sighed.

“Ysmir’s beard, it’s the ears, isn’t it? I forget you mer hear much better than us.”

“A little, yes. Oh, and— _please_ don’t call me ‘my lord.’ I’m just a servant, really.”

They exchanged a dubious look.

“If you’ll pardon my saying so, my—er, sir,” said Hanna, “I don’t know any servants armed with weapons crafted by the jarl’s own smith.”

“Or any who wear the jarl’s own cloak,” piped up Ysme.

For I still wore the heavy, overly-large fur cloak the king had placed about my shoulders. It rested above my own cloak, but that only added to the warmth it could provide. Of course, I didn’t retain it merely in appreciation for the physical comfort it gave, but because of who it had once belonged to, and what it meant for him to gift it so spontaneously to me.

“Oh,” said Hanna, cutting through my thoughts, “we’ve made him sad.”

“We’ve broken the jarl’s elf,” joked Ysme.

“I’m not sad,” I said, tacitly acknowledging the irony of that statement as I wiped at my eyes with the back of my hand. I even had a bit of a sniffle, but let’s just attribute that to the biting cold.

The two exchanged a look.

“Really,” said Hanna, “It’s all right to be sad. There’s no shame in it.”

“And besides, Ulfric is a great warrior,” said Ysme. “And he has the Voice.”

“And he has Galmar Stone-Fist, which is even better. Galmar could crush a man just by looking at him hard enough. Do you even know what he can do with that giant axe of his?”

I managed a little smile.

“I do, actually. Ulfric made me train with him for two months.”

They gawked at me.

“ _You_ trained with Galmar Stone-Fist?” said Ysme.

“That’s a high honor!” agreed her friend, “Though… I suppose not surprising, considering you’re… well, you know.”

“The jarl’s lover,” I said, smiling again, a bit sheepishly now.

“Yeah, that. It’s funny, when we heard he’d taken a lover, we couldn’t believe it. I’ve never known him to have one. I mean, not publically.”

“He’s rather unapproachable,” agreed Ysme.

“Oh, and what we said about you being Dunmer… you won’t hold that against us, will you?”

I shrugged.

“I guess it’s true. No one but the Argonians and the Khajiit get treated worse than my people in the city. That’s made them distrustful.”

“We should get going,” said Ysme, looking up at the heavily overcast sky. “I think it’s going to snow.”

I didn’t want to ask how long we would travel before receiving a break. I suppose that alone should’ve been proof that I was no “lord,” regardless of what they seemed to think. I made no demands on them and did exactly as they asked. I was even in dire need of a toilet break but simply couldn’t bring myself to speak up and ask for one.

When we finally did stop, the sun was high overhead, just managing to peak out from behind the clouds. Ysme’s prediction of snow had fortunately fallen through; Skyrim’s weather was vastly unpredictable, even for a pair of experienced scouts.

I watched the two soldiers dismount before staring at the ground—far, far below my feet. I swallowed, my fingers gripping the reins. My legs and rear really felt as if they had no more feeling in them; I was certain that if I attempted to dismount on my own, I’d topple right over. (My horse, meanwhile, had evidently fully accepted that we had reached a stopping point and was currently grazing on a patch of tundra grass.)

“Do you need any help, my lo—um.”

I looked over at Hanna, who had approached me.

I sighed, my pride defeated, and nodded.

“All right, I’ll catch you. Just lean back, put your hands on his rump. Now bring your right foot over his neck…”

“My bladder feels like it’s going to explode,” I grumbled, the motion not exactly a comfortable one—let alone the sudden screaming of my reawakening muscles.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” asked Ysme, aghast.

“I’m not—oof!” For I’d fallen into the waiting hands of Hanna, who patted me on my (furry) shoulder after making sure I remained steady on my feet.

“I’m not used to giving orders,” I finally managed.

“A piss break isn’t really an order. Go on,” she shooed me away. “We’re not going anywhere.”

Once I’d relieved myself, I returned and gratefully received the bit of cold lunch they handed me. We sat down on a little rock outcropping and nibbled on salted meat, cheese, and a bit of bread—well, I nibbled, while they wolfed theirs down like the experienced soldiers they were. I tried to get an estimate of their age, and supposed they couldn’t be much older than me, five or six years at the most. They were pretty, especially Ysme, and seemed like good friends. The best of friends, really, judging from the way they teased and harassed one another.

“Studying us, Sir Elf?” asked Ysme, grinning around the food in her mouth.

I pulled what was probably a very grumpy face. “Sir Elf?”

She shrugged.

“We have to call you something.”

“I have a name, you know. It’s Casien.”

“All right, Sir Casien,” she said, grinning, and I rolled my eyes. They really were both incorrigible.

“It’s not our fault you talk like a little noble,” said Hanna, shoving another piece of food into her mouth. “That plus you belong to the jarl. You think this is a normal assignment for us?”

“What _is_ a normal assignment for you?” I asked, feeling my face warm at her assertions and thus hoping to change the topic.

“Scouting, mostly,” said Ysme, shrugging. “We’ve spent the last couple years out in the field, keeping track of Tullius’s troop movements. Oh, yes,” she said, nodding, “They’re out there. This war’s been brewing for _months_.”

“Years,” put in Hanna.

Ysme nodded.

“Been nothing but little skirmishes so far though. Lots of people caught in the middle, lots of farmers and the like turning vigilantes.”

“Came across a man who’d murdered his neighbors because he thought they were Imperial spies. The whole family, dead in their beds.”

“And then there are the taxes. All for the good of the Empire, you know. But some folk can’t afford to pay tribute, and then the Thalmor have at them.”

“Not always the Thalmor,” said Hanna, Ysme shrugging in response. “They only get their hands dirty for really important stuff.”

I sat there, my lunch momentarily forgotten, partially unable to process the horrors they’d just related. Ulfric had explained some of this to me, but not all of it. People being murdered for not paying taxes? How could Elisif and the other jarls who supported the occupation accept that?

“Most city folk don’t know about that stuff,” said Hanna, obviously reading my reaction on my face.

I shook my head.

“It’s just… I mean, he told me about some of it, but… I guess he never really went into detail about the truly bad things that were happening. Are happening, I guess.” I looked down at the food in my hands, frowning. “I always assumed his reasons for going to war were just… even though he always acted as if he’d rather do anything but.”

And, in fairness, I knew that with him it wasn’t an act. Nobody truly _wanted_ to go to war, particularly not those who had already spent their youth on the battlefield—not to mention those like Galmar Stone-Fist, who had a family to care for him, and who now took half that family with him to fight beside him

“Poor Sir Elf,” said Ysme, though there was nothing condescending in her tone, despite the silly epithet. “Keeping you in the dark, he was.” She gave Hanna a nudge. “That’s good husband material.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m sure jarls marry little nobody elves all the time.”

She shrugged. “Stranger things have happened. Well,” she stood up, dusting off her bottom, Hanna doing the same beside her, “we’d better be off. I can actually smell it in the air this time. It’s _definitely_ going to snow.”

“You say that like you really know it,” said her friend, “then half the time it doesn’t happen.”

But, as it turned out, this time she was right. Not only did the heavy snowfall make travel difficult, but the dark clouds that rolled over us blocked out what was left of the sun, and later made traveling at dusk impossible. We set up camp well before we intended to, though they assured me the little clearing they scouted just off the main road was safe, both from brigands as well as animals.

“How can you tell?” I asked, as I helped gather wood for a fire.

“Well, frost trolls, you can smell ‘em,” said Ysme. “Bears and cats would leave tracks in this snow. Plus there are little signs to look for, unique to each animal.”

“Scat’s a big one,” said Hanna, giving a dead branch a hard tug as she separated it from a sapling.

“Scat?”

“Aye, scat,” agreed Ysme. “Excuse the indelicacy, Your Little Worship, but that’s a hunter’s word for shit. And so far all the shit I’ve seen hasn’t had anything but seeds in it.”

“Sabre cat shit and bear shit would have fur, feathers, and the like,” said Hanna helpfully. “And both bears and cats will rake the side of a tree with their claws. Bears’ll rip a tree open looking for grubs.”

“And people?” I asked.

“Oh, those are the easiest. Nothing makes more noise or smells worse than a group of bandits.”

The tent was set up around the fire, and was designed to let the smoke travel out through the top so that those sitting in it wouldn’t be smothered. I wouldn’t have imagined such a seemingly flimsy apparatus could provide such warmth and comfort, but in truth I felt quite cozy, especially as I still had Ulfric’s heavy cloak about my shoulders.

Hanna disappeared to hunt down dinner, leaving Ysme inside with me.

“You’re not going with her?” I asked, feeling a little awkward at being left alone with someone I still barely knew.

“Are you joking?” She looked at me as if I were quite out of my head. “And leave you alone? Here, in the middle of the wilderness?”

“I’m not _that_ helpless,” I said, feeling a little insulted by the implication, however warranted. I _had_ spent the past two months or so training with apparently the most feared man in the Stormcloak army, yet still no one would take me seriously.

She laughed.

“Calm yourself, Sir Elf. No need to get so huffy. Well, you know, the jarl didn’t assign us to escort you for nothing. You’re obviously very important, so of course it has to be Hanna and me. Though we were only back at Windhelm for a week.”

I blinked. “So the jarl personally asked you to do this?”

“Well, not personally as such, but we were told of it, and that it came straight from him. We don’t all have close and personal relationships with the jarl, you know,” she added, winking.

I wondered at this—between assigning someone to pack my things and arranging for horses and a pair of soldiers to accompany me to Winterhold, he must have been quite busy before retrieving me this morning. It was… humbling, in a way. He surely had had other things on his mind, and yet he had done everything possible to see that I had been adequately prepared for my journey.

“Bit of a thinker, aren’t you?” she asked, startling me. She grinned when I looked at her. “I notice you do that, go off on your own sometimes. Just sitting there, with your eyes wide open, but your thoughts far away.”

“I suppose,” I said, a little embarrassed at having my fanciful nature called out.

“You’d make a terrible scout. But I guess that’s why you’re for the college and not the army, for all you had Galmar Stone-Fist himself show you how to wield that short sword.”

It took me a moment to process what she’d just said. I stared at her, not a little bit shocked.

“You know I’m to attend the college!” I finally said.

She shrugged. “That’s what we were told.”

“And you don’t—I mean, you aren’t afraid of me?”

“Here, now! Stereotypes aren’t very nice, you know, Sir Elf. Not all Nords are more scared of magic than they are of draugr and hagravens.”

“The ones who live in Windhelm are,” I said darkly.

“Oh, aye, that may be true for the most part. Though get to traveling like I have, make a life for yourself outside the city, and you’d be surprised how the world can open your eyes right up.”

I supposed that was true. Before coming to Windhelm, I had never even left Solstheim, which, while large for an island, could hardly compare to a country like Skyrim. I thought of how much I had learned since leaving home, how much I had grown—how much of that could be attributed to experience, though, and how much to simple age and maturity? I was nearing twenty now; I had been just seventeen when I first arrived in Skyrim. It seemed like an eternity from now rather than a mere three years.

“Are you from Windhelm?” I asked after a while.

“Born and raised. Mother was a soldier, and Father worked the shipyards.”

“That must have been after he retired from his pirating life,” I said, smiling a little.

She laughed, coloring a little.

“You heard that, did you? Well, he’s a reputable enough man now, devoted to the cause, too. Sometimes I think I must’ve inherited his wandering spirit though. Joined the army, just like my mother, but regular soldiering just wasn’t for me. I had to see the world, so to speak. Or, well, all of Skyrim, at least.”

“I’m sure they’re both very proud of you.”

“They are, though Mother’s always trying to get me a husband, and Hanna a wife. Hanna hasn’t got any parents to do that for her, you know.” She smiled at me. “What about you, Sir Elf?”

“I never knew my father. I lost my mother… almost ten years ago now, I guess.”

“The Nine watch over them. I’m sorry for your loss.”

I shrugged. “It’s been so long. I’ve been on my own for a long time.”

“Surely you didn’t raise yourself, then?”

“My aunt and uncle took me in. But… we were never really close.”

I didn’t care to get into the story of my abandonment. So far only Helgird and Ulfric knew that sad story—not counting Malthyr and that lot at the Corner Club, of course—and I was rather determined to keep it that way. I didn’t feel as if it had any bearing on what sort of person I had become, and I never wished anyone to see me differently after I told them that particular story. Helgird certainly hadn’t. I don’t know about Ulfric—but then, he hadn’t known me very well in the first place before hearing it.

“Lost in thought again?” Ysme prompted.

I shook my head.

“No, just… remembering something.”

I looked down, focusing on the dancing little flames of the fire. In my mind’s eye, I saw the cheerful little second guest room fireplace again, and I could almost hear his voice, commanding me to explain myself after I’d so coldly referenced the treatment of the Dunmer in Windhelm. At least I had thought it a command at first. How frightened I’d been of him when we’d first met!—though I naturally would have been embarrassed to admit it. And yet he had listened so thoughtfully, and seemed so heavy at heart in his own explanation to me. I hadn’t even thought twice about revealing my life story to him. And how sad he had looked afterward! Had he liked me, even then? I wouldn’t have dreamed it possible at the time. And now I’d have given anything to go back in time, to relive that moment—when we were both safe in the castle, falling headlong into a friendship that somehow grew, despite everything, into so much more.

“Are you all right?” I heard Ysme ask, her voice tinged with concern.

“I’m fine,” I said, biting the inside of my cheek, but I couldn’t help it: there was no stopping the tears that had gathered yet again in my eyes, nor could anything prevent the increasing tightness of my throat.

“I just miss him,” I said, and this time I didn’t even wipe the tears away from my cheeks. I finally gave up and lowered my head, covering my face with my hands, so ashamed of my feelings.

“Ohh, there, there,” said Ysme, and I heard her shift to come and sit beside me, and even put an arm around me, her hand patting my shoulder. “It’s all right, poor lad. You have a good cry about it. I daresay you could damn well use it.”

And so I did. I sobbed until my nose was clogged and my eyes burned beneath my lids. She held me the whole time, still occasionally patting my arm and telling me sweet nonsense things.

“I’m sorry,” I finally said, rubbing my eyes and sniffing heavily. “This isn’t part of your assignment.”

“Oh, she’s good at it,” said Hanna, surprising me, for I hadn’t realized she’d re-entered the tent. “Has seven little brothers and sisters. How many broken little hearts have you comforted by now, Ysme?”

“The way Roland goes through lovers? Thousands,” came the amused reply, and I couldn’t help smiling at this poor Roland, who evidently lost his young heart with such ease.

“I’ve never been in love before,” I said, wiping my nose and trying quite as hard as I could to regain at least a _little_ of my composure and dignity back. “I just… I just don’t know how to handle it. I don’t know what to do.”

“Well, can’t say either of us is much of an expert on love,” said Ysme.

“Loving a soldier’s hard,” agreed Hanna before wisely adding, “And loving a jarl even harder, I would imagine.”

“It isn’t really that hard,” I said, grumpily rubbing my eyes again. “I rather wish it were.”

“Well, what good does it do you to worry about things you’ve no control over? Do yourself a favor and imagine it all over: the war’s won, and we’re victorious. Skyrim’s free, and your jarl comes home to you. Isn’t that a pretty enough picture to get you through the cold nights?”

“I suppose,” I said, smiling despite myself.

“Time for dinner,” said Ysme, pulling her hand away from my shoulders and reaching for the plucked pheasants Hanna had brought in. “I’m starved!”

“From what?” goaded her friend, “Sitting on your ass all day?”

I spent the rest of the evening unable to shake myself from my grief, though I was at least able to rise above the bitterness that had attempted to settle permanently in my heart. Hanna and Ysme teased me from time to time, but they must have judged the state of my mind and didn’t pressure me into any further conversation. I was content to sit back and listen to them, taking comfort in their good-natured camaraderie. In an odd way, it gave me hope for a future that I couldn’t quite see just yet.

When it was time to sleep, they had me bed down as far from the tent opening as possible before positioning themselves on either side of the dying fire. They also had me keep my dagger close at hand, ‘just in case,’ so I did so, though I couldn’t imagine defending myself against anything or anyone that managed to get past the two of them. I closed my eyes and eventually fell asleep, my low feelings lowering still, as I realized the cloudy sky had prevented me from seeking out Azura’s star that night.

//

_Casien, Ulfric, Hanna, and Ysme by[learielle](https://learielle.tumblr.com/) !!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For reasons unknown, I made [Hanna and Ysme](http://curiousartemis.tumblr.com/post/175838864834/two-stormcloak-soldiers-from-my-story-the) in a doll-maker.
> 
> Also [Cas and Ulfric](http://curiousartemis.tumblr.com/post/175839573204/and-now-ive-done-it-ive-entered-full-nerdville) (⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄)⁄


	15. Chapter 15

Ysme’s advice proved apt: my ‘good cry’ seemed to have drained me of my heavier feelings, at least to the extent that I felt more sturdy and abler to deal with whatever the world chose to give me. I won’t say that I was suddenly happy, or that my thoughts never trended towards the melancholic—or that I never lay awake at night, unable to sleep on account of such oppressive thoughts and feelings. But nor did I feel as if my grief and fear were constantly hovering just over my shoulder, ready to overcome me.

Hanna was right, too; I could only control the thread of my own life, and only just. It was no use worrying myself to death over events and situations I truly had no control over. I contented myself with the happier memories—and there were plenty, most especially my final night in Windhelm—and resolved to make new ones. I no longer played “if” or “maybe” with myself: I _would_ see the king again, I told myself firmly, one way or another, and all would be well again. Whether or not I would be successful at maintaining such a positive outlook remained to be seen. However, in the meantime, I had my own future to see to.

It was nearly a three week journey from Windhelm to Winterhold. In good weather, it might take less than a week; in bad, over a month—if you made it there at all. There were days when we made good time, when the snow melted under the sun’s welcome heat and I even allowed the king’s cloak to fall back from my shoulders. But there were a few days when winter let us know she wasn’t quite done with us yet, and we were often forced to halt for the day, else risk losing our way or wandering unknowingly into danger.

Our most miserable night was spent huddled under the tent whilst a blizzard raged outside. Snow darkened the night sky, and this time both my guides had gone out to hunt and gather food as quickly as possible, leaving me alone in the tent. I huddled before the freshly made fire, half-buried in both my cloaks as well as my blanket. The howling of the wind was eerie, perhaps more so than anything I’d ever heard while in Windhelm or even back home in Solstheim—perhaps because I was quite alone, and more than a little worried about the other two.

I thought nothing of the first wolf howl I heard over the sound of the storm. Over the last few days, I’d grown used to the sound, much as it made me shudder.

But then I heard another, and a third—and each time, the howl sounded just a little bit closer.

I should have waited. I _should_ have stayed where I was. What help could I possibly provide two experienced Stormcloak soldiers?

But I was sure half an hour, or more, must have passed since the first howl. And neither Hanna nor Ysme were ever this long securing our dinner for the night.

I made up my mind. I threw the blanket off as well as Ulfric’s cloak, as it was too long and heavy and would only hinder me in the deep snow. I strapped my sword belt back on and, standing before the tent flap, took a deep breath before pushing it aside and stepping out.

The cold wind whipped bitterly against my face, stinging my eyes and making it impossible to see at first. Even when I blinked and adapted, visibility was poor—I could scarcely see three feet in front of my face.

I looked back at the tent. It was the lone bright mark amidst the freezing gloom; I’d have to wander very far indeed to lose sight of it. I took another deep breath and turned to face the wilderness.

“Hanna!” I called, trudging forward. “Ysme!”

It felt as if the wind and the snow swallowed my words even before they left my mouth. I called out louder, though this time, Ysme’s name got half-stuck in my throat, as I was interrupted by yet another wolf’s howl—and this one was _very_ close.

I looked back; the tent was still only a few feet away. And wolves feared fire, did they not? And weren’t known to attack men or mer unless desperate.

I faced forward again, peering into the dark forest before me. My gloved left hand resting on the hilt of my sword, more for comfort than anything, I set my jaw and continued walking.

Again and again I called out the names of my two new friends, but they never answered. I fully expect it had more to do with the howling of the wind than anything else. But in my mind’s eye, they must have suffered some sort of injury, something that prevented them from answering me. Perhaps they were even unconscious. No one, no matter how experienced, would survive out here for long.

After a few minutes of futile searching and calling, I turned around, just to reorient myself—and froze.

The light from the tent was gone.

Everywhere, in every direction I looked, was the blinding white of snow flurries covering the deep surrounding darkness. Panic took hold of me, my heart seeming to stop as my stomach clenched in fear. I had walked a mere 50 or so feet from camp, yet I had somehow become inexorably lost.

“Hanna!!” I called one last time, putting all the breath I had left in me behind the call. “YSME!”

Nothing.

The wind howled, and the darkness closed in. Just then, I had a sudden thought—the snow! My footprints would have inevitably left a path leading from here to the tent. I bent down, trying my best to peer around me, but the snow was falling so fast and hard that it rapidly blanketed everything it touched—including my path back to camp.

The shape that came hurtling out of the darkness took me by complete surprise.

I was knocked backwards, landing on my back in the snow. My heavy attacker remained on top of me, and in a flash of fangs, made a lunge for my throat. I reacted on instinct, bringing my right hand up to protect myself. Massive jaws closed around my arm, my thick leather glove and bracer at least preventing the bone from being snapped immediately in two. I floundered for my weapon with my left hand, but I was too panicked, and my fall had trapped my sword beneath my body.

The wolf shook its head, snarling, heaving stinking breath into the night air. I cried out, as its teeth had penetrated through my glove and bracer and now ripped into my skin. It sprang off me, jerking me back with it—that was my chance.

I fumbled for my now freed sword and pulled it free from its scabbard. In retrospect, I ought to have grabbed my dagger, as I was far more used to wielding that with my left hand. But I was acting on instinct, and I suppose in my mind’s eye, the biggest weapon ought save the day.

I slashed, awkwardly, at the wolf’s great head. It gave a dreadful whine and let me go, springing backwards. Dark red blood splattered the snow, and I wasn’t sure just whose it belonged to—likely both of us. The injured wolf backed away into the forest, but just then two more crept out, snarling to join their fellow.

Cradling my useless right hand to my chest, I lifted my sword at the ready. A spark caught my eye, even in my panicked state. It seemed to zip from my hand up the length of the blade, briefly bathing the sword in bright, purplish light. _Magic_. But it didn’t return, and the two wolves were soon joined by a third, which crouched low to the ground, preparing to spring.

As it did, an arrow sailed from over my shoulder, imbedding itself into the wolf’s skull.

Two strong voices called out a Nord battle cry, and from behind me, on either side, leapt Hanna and Ysme, their swords held aloft. They fell upon the wolf pack, hacking and slashing at them; more wolves poured out into the clearing, but the pack soon seemed to realize it had met its match, as those animals that still lived eventually retreated back into the depths of the forest.

“Are you hurt?” asked Ysme, sheathing her sword and hurrying to my side.

“What were you doing, leaving the tent?” asked Hanna, whirling around and gazing down at me with fierce blue eyes.

“Hold, Hanna!” said her companion, “He’s injured. We must get him back!”

Despite all this, the blizzard was yet worsening. Together, they both helped me make it back to the tent, whose light I saw immediately pierce the darkness as soon as we began walking—the light from the campfire had simply been blocked by a nearby tree. I felt oh so foolish, even amidst the searing pain in my arm.

In the tent, they sat me down and carefully pulled off the remains of my glove and bracer.

“This looks bad,” said Ysme, “Poor Sir Elf! Hanna, give me the water skin.”

They cleaned the wound as best they could, the soapy water and medicinal alcohol stinging so badly that tears gathered and fell from my eyes. Hanna wanted to sew some of the wounds shut, but Ysme feared I would not be able to handle the shock and pain of it. In the end, Hanna won out; I was asked to bite on a strip of leather, and Ysme sat down on my chest, bracing my arm, while Hanna sewed as quickly as she could.

I’d never felt such intense pain in my life. I believe in the end I passed out from it, for one moment I was screaming, my throat raw from my efforts, and the next I was blinking up at the ceiling of the tent. Hanna was wrapping my arm, and Ysme was nowhere to be seen. She reappeared a moment later, holding a water skin to my mouth and ordering me to drink, so I did.

“Now if he should fetch a fever we’ll really be in trouble,” grumbled Hanna.

“We’re not far from Winterhold now,” said Ysme, “there are healers at the college, I’d wager. Here,” she turned and handed me some dried meat after digging through her pack, “You shouldn’t wait until we’ve got dinner ready. Eat what you can and go right to sleep; you’ve lost enough blood as it is.”

“I’m sorry,” I finally said. “I know I shouldn’t have left. But you were both gone so long. I thought—

“You don’t do the thinking out here!” snapped Hanna. “ _We_ do!”

There was silence between us all after that, as Hanna turned to skin whatever animals they’d caught tonight, and Ysme quietly poked at the fire to build it up.

“Don’t mind Hanna,” Ysme said after a moment. “She’s just angry that we could have lost you.”

“Of course I’m bloody angry,” growled the other girl, and I don’t think I’ve seen anyone skin a hare so aggressively. It was rather disconcerting. “Do you think I want to tell the jarl I’ve gone and killed his only elf?!”

Ysme snorted, despite everything.

“I _hope_ you’re his only elf,” she said, winking at me.

“Me, too,” I said, somehow managing a smile.

But my eyes were already feeling heavy—I didn’t realize then that losing blood made a person sleepy, and I had lost rather a lot. Passing out from sheer pain also apparently does a number on one’s constitution. I really only wanted to crawl into my pallet and never be disturbed again.

“Go on,” said Ysme, evidently catching the sleepiness in my face. “Have a lie down. Dream about that king of yours, and try to think healing thoughts. Maybe Kynareth will bless us after all.”

But the goddess must have had other matters to attend to, for when I awoke the following morning, I felt weaker than ever, and my arm still stung terribly.

I tried to hide it from the others, assuring them I was fine, though I sat on a rock and rested while they busied themselves disassembling the camp. By noon I was having trouble keeping my eyes open, and by evening I nearly fell off my horse while attempting to dismount.

“Shore’s bones, he’s burning up!” said Ysme, who’d hurried over to assist me.

Hanna sighed. “And I don’t think we’ll make it to Winterhold by tomorrow. Nine help us!”

I couldn’t manage to keep anything down that night, which I’m sure made me all the weaker. The following morning was fortunately a clear and bright one. It was determined that I couldn’t be trusted to seat my own horse, so I was mounted onto Ysme’s horse and told to keep my good arm wrapped around her.

We stopped only briefly for lunch, more to rest the horses than anything. By nightfall, I was barely still conscious; my arm burned like fire, and my body shook with fever, despite the blanket they had wrapped around me.

“I say we keep riding,” I heard Hanna say.

“I don’t know. The mountain pass is perilous enough during the day.”

“If we don’t arrive in Winterhold by morning I fear we’ll be toting a corpse. We don’t really have a choice.”

I was transferred to Hanna’s horse, then, presumably to spare Ysme’s the continued burden. Then we kept riding. More than anything, I was keenly aware of the bone-chilling wind and the suffocating darkness; I huddled against the person in front of me and wished only to be warm and asleep. I no longer really even felt my injured arm anymore.

My first impressions, then, of Winterhold are sadly a blur. I heard voices, and was surprised that some were male and unfamiliar; this was the only way I knew that we had entered a city. There were dogs barking, too, and children laughing. The horse beneath me was galloping, and the person I was clinging to was leaning forward, urging her mount on.

“Move out of the way!” she called, and people shouted, some in annoyance, others in alarm when they no doubt saw me.

Eventually we came to a stop. I was left on the horse, my left hand clinging weakly to the saddle as I leaned forward and gazed blearily at the figure of Hanna marching towards the entrance to a long, ornate bridge.

She was met with a sort of invisible wall, the shock of it sending her stuttering several steps back.

“Let us in!” she roared.

“Hanna!” cried Ysme, “You’ll only make them angry!”

“He’s _dying_ ,” returned her friend, “The flesh rot’s already in his arm; it’ll be in his heart by noon. Let us IN!”

She drew her sword and slashed at the invisible barrier, causing it to spark. She then took to kicking it repeatedly. A crowd was beginning to gather, obviously struck by the commotion, but they were all blurred and faceless to me.

“Who are you?” I heard a clear, authoritative voice now speak from the top of the bridge, “that you assault our doors so brazenly?”

But I never heard the answer. I finally lost consciousness, my left hand losing its weak grip on the saddle as I slid off the horse and down into the snow.


	16. Chapter 16

Waking up in a hospital bed was not necessarily the first impression of the College that I would have chosen for myself, but it was apparently what the gods had decreed for me.

I gazed up at an immense stone ceiling, my eyes blinking through the cool, unearthly lighting that seemed to permeate the entire room. The air was pleasantly warm and heavy with… something. It settled into my chest with each breath that I took, as if the very air were sizzling with energy.

“Ah, you’re awake!”

I turned my head at the sound of the unfamiliar feminine voice. A pretty woman about 20 years my senior walked over towards me. She was wearing some sort of robe, though I suppose it could be a dress… no, it wasn’t like anything I’d seen before. It was very elegant, yet practical, just as she seemed to be.

She leaned down to lay a hand over my forehead.

“Fever’s mostly gone. You were very lucky, you know. Your friends saved your life.”

“My friends?”

I frowned up at her. I was still feeling a little groggy.

“The two soldiers. The loud one was a little obnoxious, but I suppose sometimes you have to be to get what you want in this world.” She sniffed, as if she could personally relate.

I tried to sit up, though my head felt a bit woozy, and the room immediately started to dip around me.

“Don’t push yourself,” said the woman, placing a hand gently on my chest and encouraging me to lie back again. “The infection had gone all the way into your head, and I had quite a bit of trouble getting it out. I’d hate to see all my work done for nothing.”

I looked up at her. “Where are they now? My… friends.”

“Oh, they had to leave on some important mission or other. But they stayed until I assured them you would live. That seemed rather important to them. Though I wonder if that might have something to do with this?”

She reached for something on a side table and held it up: it was the golden clasp for Ulfric’s cloak, and like my sword and dagger, bore the Bear of Eastmarch symbol.

I shifted uncomfortably.

“…Maybe,” I said.

I was for some reason reluctant to give the full truth about my relationship with the king, perhaps because it felt too personal—why should it be everyone and anyone’s business who I’d fallen in love with? But maybe a part of me longed to begin a new life here at the college, and being seen as my own person, and not simply the beneficiary of a great man (however much he meant to me) was important to me.

She pressed her lips together and laid the clasp back down, alongside, I saw, my sword and dagger.

“The rest of your things were taken to be cleaned,” she said, seeing where I was looking and guessing at the question in my eyes. “That which you brought with you has been deposited in your room.”

I blinked at her.

“My room?”

“Yes, all students receive free room and board while at the college.”

So it was really happening: I was a student now at the College of Winterhold. Even in my somewhat weakened state I couldn’t suppress the thrill that ran through me.

“Now try and lie here for a few more hours; sleep, if you need it,” she continued. “Do call me if you need anything. My name’s Colette, by the way. Though since you’re to be a student here, I suppose I ought to introduce myself as Professor Marence.”

“Casien,” I said, by way of introduction.

  
“Yes, I know. Your friends told me as much, and Mirabelle confirmed your identity. We were expecting you, apparently, though perhaps not in so dramatic a fashion.”

Mirabelle. I wondered who that was—presumably the person I remembered calling out to us just before I collapsed. Ulfric had called the Arch-Mage ‘Savos Aren,’ but this Mirabelle sounded like an important person as well. My old fear of being noticed by powerful people rose up within me, but I tried to tamp it back down. Surely I had nothing to fear here. It was a place of learning—and healing, evidently.

I lay back once she left me, my left hand occasionally scratching at the thick, itchy bandage encircling my lower right arm.

A few hours later, I felt strong enough to sit up and walk around, and once I’d demonstrated my ability to get to my feet and make my way to the washroom, Colette declared me free to go. Before I left, she brought me a pair of comfortable, loose trousers, along with a long-sleeved tunic that was as long as a gambeson and a sleeved-over cloak that Colette called a ‘robe’. Both were a nondescript brown color, and I was informed that this was the uniform given to new apprentices.

I strapped on my sword belt since that seemed more practical than carrying it around. The cloak clasp I slipped into one of the many interior pockets in the robe.

“But where am I to go?” I asked, for she’d already turned away from me to disappear back inside her office.

“Oh, I believe Mirabelle sent another student to orient you. They’ll be around somewhere. And be sure to stop by here again tomorrow! We’ll need to have a look at that bandage.”

With this unsteady assertion, I was to be released back into the wilds, so to speak, and it was with great trepidation that I made my way across the healing ward room and stepped past the heavy wooden outer door.

The door opened onto an immense room—it was far wider than The Palace of the Kings’ narrow throne room, though it, too, was built in dark gray stone. There was one grand staircase in the middle and several smaller ones off to the side; there were also many, many doors, on this level as well as the next, for the ceiling was open for several floors, and I could look up and up and see people roaming about as far as the fourth floor. And there _were_ people everywhere—mostly apprentices in their brown robes, clustered together in little groups, talking and laughing as they walked. There were some in different colored robes, a light blue, and others in black. Here and there I saw what must be a professor, for these individuals were noticeably older and did not wear a uniform.

It was a shockingly even mix of folk, too. In addition to the various types of humans, I saw mer of all species, and even several Argonians and Khajiit. I was quite certain, too, that Hanna, Ysme, and I had traveled through truly awful weather to get here, and that we had been traveling uphill for most of it. Yet the atmosphere here was the same as in the healing ward, despite the high ceiling: warm, and tingling with energy.

“Hello!” called someone off to my left.

I turned and saw a Dunmer girl sitting on a little stone bench not far from the entrance to the healing ward. She waved and stood up.

“You must be Casien,” she said, as I drew nearer. “I’m Brelyna Maryon.”

She was dressed in the same brown robes as me, and her pretty face was eager and friendly, if a bit shy—something I could relate to. She wore her dark hair up in two little twisted knots that made her look even more girlish and cuter, I suspected, than normal. She was a little shorter than me and a little slighter—I felt as if I were looking at my twin, in many ways.

“My, aren’t you cute!” she said, and I couldn’t help blushing, despite my earlier thoughts. “Oh!” she laughed, covering her mouth briefly. “Sorry, I tend to say whatever I’m thinking.”

“That’s all right,” I said, smiling a little.

She cleared her throat and seemed to stand a bit straighter.

“Professor Mirabelle said I’m to show you around, so… would you like a tour?”

My smile grew; I couldn’t help but be put at ease by her mannerisms.

“I’d love a tour,” I said, “especially since I have no idea where I am or what I’m supposed to be doing.”

“Oh, yes,” she replied, “I suppose your arrival was a little unusual. Well, you’ve missed today’s lessons, so that’s a relief at least. Or maybe not if you were looking forward to them. But then you only have to wait until tomorrow. Oh!” She started. “Right, the tour. Well, let’s go see the classrooms first, since we’re talking about classes.”

“Okay,” I said, trying not to grin, for she had been the only one to mention classes so far.

“What sort of magic do you specialize in?” she asked, as we began to walk.

“Wait—you can _specialize_ in different kinds of magic?”

She blinked. “Of course. Oh, I hope I didn’t make you feel stupid for not knowing. I forget not everyone comes here with the same background in magic.”

“I guess I wouldn’t have known to feel stupid until you mentioned it,” I said, then I couldn’t help laughing as she gave me a horrified look. “I’m kidding! I don’t feel stupid. Maybe just very ignorant. So… to answer your question, I have no idea what kind of magic I’ll specialize in.”

She nodded. “Well, that’s not atypical. As for me, I’ve always been fascinated with transfiguration. Isn’t it almost impossible to believe that we’re all made of the same energy and substance? How could a cow, for example, possibly be made to assume the form of an apple, and vice versa?”

“Is that… really, actually possible?”

“Well, in theory, I suppose. So far I’ve seen Professor Mirabelle turn a mouse into a vole, a snowberry bush into a bluebonnet, and an empty wine bottle into a vase. She says much more complicated transfigurations are possible, but none of us are ready for that yet. Personally, I hope to one day be able to transform myself, but everyone says that’s too dangerous.”

“Professor Mirabelle,” I said, “Colette mentioned her. Who is she?”

“Professor Marence, you mean? I hope you didn’t challenge her on the necessity of studying restoration magic; she _can_ go on and on about it.”

“It never occurred to me—I mean, she basically told me I could have died but for her healing.”

“Really!” She paused and looked at me, her eyes widening in surprise. “That must have been a shock. I don’t think I’ve ever had a near death experience.”

“I seem to attract them,” I muttered, thinking of my past three years in Skyrim.

“That doesn’t sound very fun. Oh! Professor Mirabelle—well, I suppose I should call her Professor Ervine, but she prefers us to use her first name, since not everyone here has a last name. She’s teaches the transfiguration apprentice class, and lots of upper level classes. She’s also the assistant to the Arch-Mage. Everyone thinks she’ll take over when Professor Aren retires, but that won’t be for a while.

“Well, here we are,” she said, as we paused before an open door. “This is the transfiguration classroom; I suppose I took you here first without really thinking since we were talking about it.”

I peeked inside the dark, empty classroom. It was quite large, with a desk and wall-to-wall shelves at the front, along with boxes, cages, and other items. There were rows of desks closer to the door where we were, and I supposed these were for the students.

I gripped the doorframe suddenly, a wave of dizziness briefly overtaking me. I couldn’t really believe this was happening. Tomorrow (presumably) I would be standing in that room, listening and learning—and for once not having to worry about where my next meal would come from, nor would I have to put up with insults, bigotry, or condescension, simply on account of who and what I was.

“Are you all right?” asked Brelyna, resting a hand on my shoulder.

“I’m fine,” I said, blinking and clearing my throat. “I guess I’m still recovering.”

“Well, come on,” she said, patting my shoulder. “I’ll show you the other classrooms.”

There were six classrooms in total, all on the ground level—master and adept classrooms were on the second and third floors. Lessons apprentices were given included transfiguration, wards and barriers, destruction, illusion, restoration, enchanting, and magical theory, which sounded quite mysterious and exciting to me. I wondered, too, at a branch of magic being referred to as “destruction”—was that at all related to my little fire, or its more violent cousin, the electric spark that had now twice shot out of me without my consent? I didn’t know whether to be curious or terrified of such a subject, and what it might mean for me.

“Well, that’s all of them,” Brelyna said, as we stood in the doorway to the room where I would soon learn everything I might have ever wanted to know about enchanting. “Where to next?”

“I’m not really sure,” I said, not wanting to sound rude. “I… don’t know what else there is.”

She started. “Oh, of course! Sorry, I hadn’t really thought of that. Well, how about the library?”

It was as if the ceiling above us parted, and the sun shone above me, its rays bathing my face as choirs of daedra sang in perfect harmony.

“There’s a library?” I asked breathlessly.

“It’s where we do most of our studying. Oh, that reminds me, I’ll have to introduce you to the rest of our group.”

“Your group?”

“There’s me, of course, and Nirya, Onmund, and Eleanor—she’s not a mage, though; she works for Professor Urag, the librarian. No one wanted to be friends with her when she first arrived, on account of her not having any magic, so I insisted she sit with us during meals.”

“That was kind of you,” I said, a little relieved, frankly, to hear of such kindness. It had been in short supply in Windhelm.

She shrugged. “Well, I wouldn’t have asked if she weren’t a nice person, but she is. I mean, I guess you have to be pretty easy going to be able to work for Professor Urag.”

This naturally made me a little nervous as we made our way towards the purported library, especially as “Urag” was most assuredly an Orsimer name. Not that I’d ever really had any trouble with Orsimer folk, but they can be a fiercely intimidating people.

“Well, here we are,” she said as we entered a wide arched doorway. I smelled the books before I saw them—that utterly divine scent of old paper and dried ink. But when I stepped into the building itself and found myself surrounded on all sides, several stories up, with nothing but books, books, and more books… I’m honestly surprised I didn’t faint.

“You look a little unstable again,” said Brelyna, casting me a worried look. “Are you feeling okay?”

“I’m fine,” I said, leaning against the nearest bookshelf for support as I grinned up and all around me.

“Let me introduce you to Professor—oh, Eleanor!”

She waved her friend over, and soon a dark-haired young woman about our own age approached us.

“Eleanor,” said Brelyna, “This is Casien. He’s a new student here.”

“Hello,” said Eleanor, smiling, “Welcome to the college. Let me know if you need to locate a book; I pretty much know where everything is by now.”

“How is that even _possible_?” I asked, my eyes still wandering over the beautiful display before me. “There are so _many_ of them!”

“I see you like books just as much as I do,” she replied, grinning. “Don’t let the professors know that; they’ll only assign you more to read.”

“They’ll have to punish me to make me _stop_ reading,” I said.

Both Brelyna and Eleanor laughed and exchanged a look, though not for a moment did I feel as if they were mocking me.

“Eleanor!” barked a gravelly Orsimer voice, “What are you doing? I need you over here!”

Eleanor just smiled and called over her shoulder. “Coming, Professor!”

“I wouldn’t recommend meeting Professor Urag today, by the way,” she said, which was just fine with me, after I’d heard the man roaring across such a sacred space. “He’s in a bit of a mood. We’re looking for a manuscript he’s sure is supposed to be here, but I swear I’ve searched the place from top to bottom three times now.”

“All right,” said Brelyna. “Bye for now.”

“See you at dinner.”

Speaking of dinner—my stomach rumbled grumpily as we watched Eleanor quickly trot back to her duties. I realized I hadn’t really eaten much the past few days, and though my body was still healing from the fever, it was going to be demanding nourishment really soon.

“Where to next?” asked Brelyna, evidently forgetting again that she was the tour guide and I was the newcomer. “You know,” she added, seeing how reluctant I was to leave the library, “You can come back here whenever you want and check out as many books as you like. You only have to bring them back after a week, and even then, if no one else has requested them you can have them for another week.”

“That’s amazing,” I said, and while Cylna or Ullte would have looked at me as if I had sprouted another head, Brelyna only smiled at me.

“You’re cute,” she said, “I know I already said that, but I mean cute in other ways, too. Come on, let’s go and look at your room next. I probably should’ve taken you there first.”

“You mentioned dinner,” I said, trotting to catch up to her, “Will that—Will that be happening soon?”

It was rather a big step for me to ask so boldly—I wasn’t in the habit of making my needs and wants known to those around me, as evidenced by my inability to even ask for a bathroom break while traveling. But Hanna and Ysme’s scolding had made me realize that there was nothing truly wrong with asking for something you genuinely needed. And, in any case, I wasn’t a servant here—I was the equal of everyone around me, save the professors, I suppose, and the haughty-looking students in blue and black robes.

“Oh, yes. It starts in about an hour from now, but—well, you’ll see when we get to the apprentice tower.”

The words ‘apprentice tower’ sounded equal parts grand and intimidating, though marginally more so the former than the latter—unless it was the sort of tower where innocent princes and princesses were kept in the fairy tales I’d read, but I didn’t think it would be. We made our way back down the same hallways that had led to the classrooms, and soon we were walking through the great central room again.

“Where do all these other doors lead?” I asked as we threaded our way through. My curiosity had me so distracted I even managed to bump into (of course) another apprentice; I mouthed a silent ‘Sorry!’ before hurrying to catch up to Brelyna, and surprisingly, he only smiled and shrugged.

“Lecture halls, auditoriums, meeting rooms, offices, laboratories for the professors and master students… lots of stuff, I guess; I’ll have to show you some of those places later, like the arboretum or the smithy, or, well, I guess the best way to put it is that we really have everything we need here at the college. No one has to go into town for anything, unless you really want to.”

“Are there merchants here?” I asked, surprised.

“Some, but they aren’t allowed to stay overnight, and they have to receive special permission to enter college grounds. Not just anyone can march right up and let themselves in. There are warding spells that prevent that.”

My memory was foggy, but I could definitely recall the barrier Hanna had attempted to tear down while trying to save me. It was comforting, in an odd way. It made me feel… safe.

We entered yet another long hallway, this one busier than the ones leading to the classrooms or library. I noticed everyone we passed wore the apprentice brown robes and was about the same age as Brelyna and myself, though I confess I can’t always tell with Argonians and Khajiit.

“Found another stray, Brelyna?” asked a haughty Redguard girl as we passed her and her friends.

“Something like that,” said Brelyna, smiling.

I glanced back at the girl (who rolled her eyes before returning to chat with her friends) and hurried to catch up with Brelyna.

“Who was that?” I asked.

“Um, Della I think? Or maybe Adela. I can’t really remember.”

“She seems like a bully.”

I felt deflated to learn that there were people like that, even here. Maybe the college wasn’t that different from Windhelm after all.

Brelyna looked over at me in surprise, her steps slowing momentarily.

“Oh!” She paused, placing a hand on my shoulder. “Did she upset you? Really, I wouldn’t worry about it. All that really matters here is advancing in your studies and pleasing the professors. And making new friends, I guess!”

She beamed, a bit sheepishly, I thought, at that last bit, and I couldn’t help but smile back.

“I think I can handle that,” I said. I hesitated before adding, “I’m not really used to having friends. To be honest, I’m not really sure I’m all that good at it.”

She patted my shoulder.

“You’re doing just great. I like you, and Eleanor likes you, and I’m sure Niyra and Onmund will like you, too. You’ll see. Come on, it’s just this way.”

We passed through one final heavy set of double doors, and sure enough, we now stood before a large, circular tower room. The stairs were set into the round walls, but just as with the main hall, I could look up and up and see the successive floors. Each floor was ringed by several wooden doors, behind which I assumed were individual rooms.

“Well, this is the apprentice tower,” said Brelyna, “Oh, before I show you your room, let me show you where the washroom and dining room are.”

She curled an arm loosely around my own and pulled me forward; I came along a little reluctantly, as I was really keen to discover which of these rooms was to be mine.

She showed me the washroom, first; it was very small but very neat, and there was evidently one per floor. Each floor had one senior apprentice who made sure everyone took turns cleaning it, which evidently didn’t sit well with those students from upper class families.

“But if you don’t pull your weight around here, you _can_ get kicked out of the college,” she explained. “It’s never happened to anyone I know, but I guess it could happen in theory. I know of a few who’ve left voluntarily, rich folk, mostly, though there’s rumor that a group of master students left a few years ago because they were practicing forbidden magic. The Arch-Mage told them they needed to stop, but they refused. So they were asked to leave.”

“That doesn’t sound very voluntary,” I said.

“I think they could have stopped, though, if they wanted to stay.”

“What sort of magic is considered forbidden?”

“Oh, lots of things! Necromancy, for one.”

Necromancy! I shuddered, not altogether pleased that such a branch of magic even existed. I really thought it was the sort of thing that only appeared in novels.

“Is that what they were practicing?” I asked.

“I’m not sure. I wasn’t a student at the time. I’ve only been here for… seven months? No, eight months now! It feels like I only just arrived.”

Next she showed me the dining room, though this was not the main place that students, faculty, and staff ate their meals—that was the dining hall, where we would be eating dinner later. There was a dining room, however, on two of the four floors in the apprentice tower; here hungry apprentices could grab a snack or a drink if they needed one. (I grabbed a sweet roll—I was recovering from a grave injury, so I felt my choice was justified.)

“And here,” she said, pulling me, finally, towards one of the closed wooden doors, “is your room! Go on, open the door.”

I did, my hand hovering on the handle for a half-second before hesitantly turning it. Behind the door was a small, cell-like room, small enough to be considered cozy. In its center was a wooden bed, a comfortable patchwork quilt over the mattress and several fluffy-looking pillows at the head. There was a large trunk at the foot of the bed, and several empty bookshelves and a large wardrobe lined the two side walls. A side table stood at each side of the bed. In one corner opposite the bed was a small desk; in the other there was a tiny round table, with one wooden chair. A dark red rug covered most of the floor, which I knew for a fact was a true luxury when getting out of bed on cold, wintery mornings.

“Oh…”

I heard Brelyna murmur off to my left, and I glanced at her. She was looking at me with concern, and that’s when I realized…

“Sorry,” I said, quickly dragging the back of my hands across my eyes.

“It’s all right. You…” She clasped her hands as though nervous, her thumbs twisting together. “You must have had a hard time. Before coming here, I mean.”

“You could say that,” I said, a little short huff of breath escaping me.

“Well, I would hug you, but I guess we haven’t known each long enough for me to do that.”

“I’m not really a hugger,” I said, trying (and probably failing) for a wan smile.

“Oh, curse it. I’m doing it, I’m hugging you!”

I couldn’t help laughing as she pulled me close, forcing me to duck a little to fit into her embrace. She gave her arms a little squeeze, and I even managed to hesitantly put my arms around her as well, my eyes closing just for a moment as I took a deep breath.

“There.” She pulled back, smiling. “Why don’t you get to know your room a little better? I’ll come to get you when it’s dinnertime. My room’s that one.” She pointed to one that was right next to my own. “Say, in an hour?”

I nodded. “All right.”

“Oh, and… don’t take this the wrong way. But you might want to bathe before dinner.”

“All right,” I said again, laughing a little. “In my defense, I haven’t seen a bathtub for weeks. It’s not my fault I smell like horse sweat.”

“You poor thing! Well, I bet you’ll be even cuter with clean hair. See you in an hour!”

I watched her disappear and couldn’t help giving a little amused huff. She wasn’t like anyone I’d ever met before. It felt as if we’d been friends for years the way she talked to me, and it didn’t feel forced or assumed. Maybe… this was what having a friend really felt like.

I stepped inside my new room, closing the door softly behind me. I noticed for the first time that my things had been piled neatly on the floor beside the bed. The clothes I’d been wearing earlier had been washed and dried, and were hanging over the back of the desk chair. My cloak and Ulfric’s cloak were nowhere to be seen; in a semi-panic, I hurried over to the wardrobe and opened it—and there they were, of course.

I pulled the cloak clasp out of my pocket and gazed down at it for a moment, my thumb absently rubbing over the etching of the great bear. I affixed it back to the king’s cloak, then, and closed the wardrobe door.

I lay down on the bed next, after first removing my boots, of course. I clasped my hands over my stomach and stared up at the stone ceiling before eventually closing my eyes—

—Only to awaken with a start, my eyes flying open in surprise. I sat up, a little groggy from my unexpected nap. I had no way of knowing how much time had passed, but since I hadn’t heard Brelyna knocking yet, I assumed I had time to gather some clean things (in addition to my own things, my room had been stocked with several more apprentice robes very near to my size) and hurry towards the wash room for a quick bath.

A few minutes later, my hair damp and curling and my skin smelling of lavender—really, the soap smelled of lavender! I guess that was one of the happier consequences of sharing a bathing room with girls—I exited the wash room and made my way back to my room.

Almost as soon as I’d closed the door, I heard a knock.

I turned to open it, not surprised—and a little relieved, as I was famished—to find Brelyna.

“Ready?” she asked. She glanced over my shoulder. “Oh! You didn’t even unpack!”

“I sort of fell asleep,” I said sheepishly.

She gave me a sympathetic look.

“You must have been exhausted. Well, come on, maybe a little more food in your belly will liven you up a bit.”

We made our way back down the hallways connecting the apprentice tower to the rest of the college, then back through the great hall before walking around the grand staircase and entering a large, noisy room. It was filled from one end to the other with long tables, the type you might see in a farmer’s house where there are six or seven mouths to feed. Half of these were occupied, and I could see already that various little groups and cliques had formed among the students. But what was most surprising, to me at least, was that these cliques weren’t based on race—there were no sad groups of Dunmer or Khajiit huddled in a solitary corner, for instance. Instead, there was a group of boisterous humans and Orsimer, all laughing and shouting and occasionally tossing food at one another; another group of mostly elves and a few humans was talking seriously and animatedly with their books open. One group seemed to look as one in our direction before suddenly waving, one in particular waving more excitedly and vigorously than the rest.

“Hey, you two!” cried Eleanor as we approached the table full of friends. “I’ve been telling the others about you!”

That last bit was said to me, presumably, and I tried not to cringe when the other two next to her looked expectantly up at me.

“He’s a little shy,” said Brelyna, “So try not to scare him.”

Eleanor laughed. “Oh, Brelyna. You shouldn’t say that with him standing right there!”

Brelyna blinked. “I shouldn’t? Oh, I’m so sorry!”

“It’s fine,” I said, smiling a little and hoping no one now noticed the reddening of my cheeks. I had a feeling I’d be saying that a lot to Brelyna.

“Try not to take anything Brelyna says to heart,” said a grinning young man with dark brown hair. “She just sort of says whatever’s on the tip of her tongue.”

“Well, you’re handsome enough,” said a slender Altmer girl. “I suppose you can sit with us.”

“Or Nirya,” said the young man, rolling his eyes.

“Introductions!” said Eleanor. “So, I’m Eleanor… which I guess you already know.”

“And that’s Nirya, and that’s Onmund,” said Brelyna, taking a seat at the table and reaching for a dinner roll.

I took a seat beside her as I eyed the food spread out in the center of the table.

“Is this… for all of us?” I asked.

“Yep, kitchen staff lay it out for us,” said Onmund. “Same amount at every table, and there’re no seconds, so you best get here on time!”

I frowned. “So you _do_ have servants.”

Eleanor laughed. “I doubt they’d appreciate you calling them servants. They work here, same as the blacksmith and the bakers and the guards.”

“Guards?”

“Well, there are a few roaming about; you wouldn’t think anyone would attack a building full of mages, but you never know.”

I nodded and began to cautiously fix my plate. I was starving, but I didn’t want to seem as if I were greedy or not cognizant of the others, especially after Onmund said there were no seconds.

“You’re a Nord,” I said, nodding at the other young man. “That’s… kind of unusual.”

He smiled. “Because I’m a mage? Or, well, trying to be one. Remains to be seen if I’m successful.”

“But you’re very good with healing spells!” said Brelyna anxiously. “Onmund’s going to be a healer,” she said to me.

Onmund shrugged. “Like I said, I’m trying. And trust me, I know how most Nords feel about magic. Convincing my family this was the right path for me wasn’t easy. In fact… they sort of disowned me. But,” he shrugged again and leaned over to spear another piece of horker meat onto his plate, “At least I finally found a place I feel at home.”

“Where are you from, originally?” I asked.

“A little farming town outside Rorikstead. You?”

“Solstheim.” I hesitated before adding, “But I spent the last three years in Windhelm.”

“Windhelm!” He shook his head, whistling. “I hear it’s hard for anyone who isn’t a Nord there. You know, I’m not a fan of the occupation, but I’m not sure I want a bigot for a High King.”

“He’s not a bigot!” I cut in, shocked. “I mean, he can’t control what people think. At least not before the war. And after it’s over, I’m sure there will be changes.”

“Oh my,” said Nirya, “That certainly set you off. Bit of a fan, are you?”

“You’re blushing now,” said Brelyna, and she even placed a consolatory hand on my shoulder. “Don’t worry; you’re among friends. Do you have a crush on Ulfric Stormcloak? You must have seen him from time to time. Is he very handsome?”

 “No,” I said, feeling my face only redden further, “I don’t have a crush. I mean, yes, I saw him, but I don’t—

“Let’s talk about something else,” interjected Eleanor smoothly. She gave me a little wink. “What do you guys think Professor Faralda will have you all do tomorrow?”

“Not flames again, I hope,” groaned Onmund, “I can’t seem to do it, no matter how hard I try!”

“Well, there _was_ that time you lit your own hair on fire,” said Nirya. She was carefully cutting the strawberries on her plate in half before eating them. It was a little bit mesmerizing.

“Great, now you’ve set them off,” he grumbled, nodding at Eleanor and Brelyna who were now giggling hysterically in apparent memory of the incident.

“How do we know when our classes are?” I asked.

“Well, the bell rings at 8…”

I blinked. “The bell?”

“Yeah, the bell; it’s… well, it’s probably some form of enchantment or other; I never really thought about it. It sounds like a real bell though. It rings at 8, and you’ve got an hour to get ready and hike it down here to scarf down breakfast before the second bell rings at nine.”

“Which is when classes start,” said Eleanor helpfully. “Or when I have to report to the library.”

“We have Professor Tolfdir first thing,” said Brelyna, “Then Faralda, then enchanting with Turrianus. Then after lunch it’s illusion, restoration, and theory.”

“Then there are two hours until dinner, which is also the perfect time to use the wash room if _someone_ was hogging it all morning,” said Nirya primly.

“You say that like you’re not the one always hogging it,” said Eleanor. She leaned over and whispered loudly, “Just look at her hair! She brushes it like a thousand times a day.”

“Ha ha,” said Nirya, but she didn’t seem annoyed; they were evidently used to playfully ribbing one another.

I remained silent for most of the rest of the conversation. They chatted together amiably enough, occasionally pausing to tell me something funny or offer a bit of helpful advice, like _Remember to light a candle before the mage lights go out!_ and _Professor Enthir will try to sell you some scrolls—_ DON’T _accept!_ To tell the truth, after my frantic, harrowing journey here, I was tired and fading fast, but neither did I wish to interrupt or disturb their good-natured banter.

“You’re not eating much,” observed Brelyna when there was a lull in conversation.

I started—I’d been leaning on my elbow, resting the side of my face on the heel of my hand as I only half-listened to the others.

“I thought I was hungry,” I said, trying not to yawn, “And I was, but… I think I’m just really tired.”

Eleanor’s eyes widened. “Why didn’t you say anything? I heard about your arrival from Professor Urag; you must be exhausted!”

“Now _that_ sounds like an interesting story,” said Nirya.

“A story for tomorrow,” said Brelyna firmly. She stood up, looking at me. “Come on. I’ll go back to the tower with you.”

I nodded, getting sluggishly to my feet.

“It was nice meeting you all,” I said.

“Likewise,” said Onmund. Eleanor and Nirya waved goodnight.

Brelyna sighed as we started to walk back.

“Eleanor isn’t here to correct me, so I’m just going to say it: being shy makes you cute, Casien Yedlin, but if you don’t speak up for yourself, people will walk all over you! You have to learn to take better care of yourself.”

I hadn’t received such a talking to since I’d lived with my aunt back on Solstheim. I couldn’t help staring at her in slight awe. Of course, it was a pep talk along the same lines as that which was given to me by my erstwhile guides from Windhelm to Winterhold, but there was just something about the way Brelyna said a thing that made me feel as if I would be a fool to discount her.

“I’ll try,” I said. “Not to be shy, and to take care of myself, I mean.”

“I know it can be hard to trust other people sometimes, but you’ll just have to try. And you _can_ trust me and the others.” She patted my shoulder in a way that was starting to feel familiar. “We’ll take care of you.”

I didn’t necessarily want to be taken care of, but I appreciated the sentiment well enough. For whatever reason, people always seemed to take me for an innocent, someone utterly incapable of looking after himself. It was a little frustrating at times, and in a strange way, it made me appreciate Ulfric’s insistence that I learn how to wield a sword.

I stopped short suddenly, my eyes widening.

“Ulfric!” I said, only I hadn’t realized I’d said it aloud, because when Brelyna paused and looked at me and repeated, ‘Ulfric…?’ I semi-panicked.

“Nothing,” I stammered, “Just—Brelyna, what’s the fastest way outside?”

“Outside? Why do you—

“Just tell me, please!”

She frowned. “Well, if you take the stairs all the way to the top of the tower, there’s a door that leads to the roof. At least take a cloak!” she called, as I hurried away, “It’s easy to forget how cold it is out there!”

She was right. I pushed open the door to the apprentice tower and hurried to my room, where I donned my cloak and gloves. Brelyna, who was just entering the tower as I exited the room, gave me a curious look, but I made a beeline for the aforementioned stairs. I took them two at a time, and in truth, I don’t know why I was suddenly in such a hurry. Maybe it was that I had been too sick the last few days to bother checking the sky. And before that? Heavy clouds had blanketed the night sky for days on end.

I pushed the outer door open, wincing when the blast of cold air hit me. I pulled my hood over my head and gripped the edges of my cloak as I looked up at the sky, and…

…There it was. Azura’s star.

I closed my eyes, letting out a breath as the door behind me closed.

What a stupid, silly thing to be worried about. What were the odds that over a thousand miles away, he was doing the very same? More than likely, it had been little more than a kindly notion to plant into my head, something to stay the tears of a beloved.

I don’t know why I still tended to doubt his intentions, even then.

I walked to the edge of the roof, my gloved palms resting on freezing cold stone as I looked up at the bright, twinkling star.

“I wish you could talk to him for me,” I said.

My voice was nearly snatched away by the sudden gust of chill wind that whipped across the roof of the building. It probably wouldn’t do to stay up here too long.

I bit my lip, my eyes never leaving the star.

“I wish you could tell him—tell him that I love him. That I can’t seem to stop thinking about him, and that—maybe he was right. Maybe we shouldn’t have done what we did, because now it’s too hard…”

I paused to wipe irritably at my eyes, and at my nose, too, for good measure.

“It’s too hard not to be with him. It’s too hard to go on with my life as if he never happened.”

That sounded awfully desperate, even to my own ears. I looked away from the star and instead stared down at the black depths below—in the darkness, the ground was too far for me to spot it from here.

I never thought of jumping or anything so horrible as that. Rather, I thought of what deep pain it would have given him, were he to learn of my death. I knew that feeling because I carried it with me always—no matter what Hanna had said, I could never stop imagining the absolute worst: the death of Ulfric Stormcloak.

I closed my eyes, cognizant of the fact that the tears were very nearly freezing on my face. I hated it—hated that I was crying, _again,_ couldn’t really seem to stop doing it these days. It made me feel fragile, and empty, as if I were no longer good for anything anymore except wallowing in my own unhappiness.

I took a deep breath, trying to center myself, and looked up at the night sky again. The wind was now so cold that I knew it would be dangerous to stay out here much longer.

“Watch over him,” I said. “Please?”

I turned then and made my way back to the rooftop door. My feet felt half numb with cold as I made my careful way back downstairs. On the bottom floor of the tower room, a few apprentices were milling about, but no one I knew yet. I let myself into my room and, my weariness once again catching up with me, barely managed to kick off my boots before collapsing onto my bed.

I lay there for a few minutes, almost too tired to even maneuver myself under the bedcovers.

And if, after a little while, I managed to get back to my feet and retrieve the overlarge fur cloak with the golden bear clasp from the wardrobe I’m sure I can be forgiven. I can be forgiven for falling back onto the bed and draping myself in his cloak. I can be forgiven for closing my eyes and breathing deeply, and finally falling asleep with the memory of his arms folding around me and the heat of his skin pressing against my own.

I slept, for the first time in days, deeply and soundly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Eleanor actually isn't an OC! She's from the amazing Interesting NPCs mod.
> 
> 2\. Where is J'Zargo? J'Zargo is not here. This author finds J'Zargo too hard to write. So there will sadly be no J'Zargo D:
> 
> (I just couldn't figure out where to put him or what purpose he would serve, and his personality is too obnoxious towards other apprentices - not that I don't love him personally.)


	17. Chapter 17

I was still a habitual early-riser and thus was delighted to realize that I was the first to use the bath that morning. I checked my arm once I was there, carefully unraveling the gauze. The swelling and redness were completely gone, leaving behind mostly bruises. There were a few raised bumps where the wolf’s teeth had punctured my skin; these would become scars, eventually, but they didn’t really trouble me. I decided I could skip revisiting the healing ward, and hoped Professor Marence wouldn’t track me down and scold me for it.

I gave my hair a good scrubbing, since I’d been rather in a hurry yesterday, and made use of the little round mirror nearby to quickly, albeit reluctantly, shave. I’ve always hated having to do it, and tended to be lazy about it (as if my shaggy hair weren’t proof of my general laziness when it came to self-care), though like many Dunmer, I, luckily for me, would have struggled to grow a proper beard if I’d ever wanted one. Beyond those two little necessities, I was careful not to linger in the bath, cognizant of the fact that just because I was first didn’t mean I ought to ‘hog’ my time there, as Nirya might have said. I remembered Brelyna saying that there was a schedule assigning bathroom duty to each of us apprentices, yet I couldn’t help cleaning up as much as I could after I finished.

I made my bed, pulling at the little patchwork quilt until there wasn’t so much as a wrinkle in it. I then hung up Ulfric’s cloak, feeling a bit rueful as I did so—how silly, to fall asleep curled up under the cloak of my beloved as if I were some forlorn character in a novel! But then I couldn’t resist pressing my nose briefly to one furry shoulder before I closed the wardrobe door. His lingering scent was really all I had left of him—well, that and all the myriad gifts he had given me.

Since I had some time before breakfast, I thought about sitting down and cozying up with Bjald’s poetry, but I knew that what I _really_ ought to be doing was reviewing the books that had been already stocked in this room. They were textbooks, and a carefully worded note suggested that I read through them all as quickly as possible. Within each book was another note, this one signed by the professor who presumably presided over that particular discipline, outlining some of the basic notions, practices, and theories.

I was three chapters deep into a volume on transfiguration when the first bell sounded. It startled me only because I hadn’t been expecting it; it was otherwise a low, gentle sort of sound, deep enough to wake a person who might still be asleep, but not so grating as to be an annoyance. I looked around my room for a Dwemer clock, but there wasn’t one—not surprising, considering how rare and expensive they were. After a second, I sighed, closed the book, and stood up: I may as well head down to breakfast.

Surprisingly, I only got lost once on my way to the dining hall.

“Looking for something?”

I’d been standing at the intersection of two hallways, a no doubt frustrated look of puzzlement on my face. I turned around to meet the kindly eyes of a much older man.

“I’m trying to find the dining hall,” I said.

The man smiled.

“New here, are you?”

“Yes, sir,” I said.

He laughed. “Oh, my! ‘Sir,’ am I?”

“I’m sorry, si—sorry,” I said, blushing, though I’m not sure why I ought to have been ashamed.

“What an unusual thing, to apologize for having manners! Well, well, looking for the dining hall, then? You’ll want to head that way, my boy.” He pointed down the hallway to my left. “That should lead you back to the great hall. I imagine you should be able to find your breakfast from there. If your eyes can’t, your nose surely well.”

“Thank you,” I said.

As soon as he smiled and nodded, I turned and made my way down the aforementioned hallway; I’d spent a good fifteen minutes wandering around, trying to find my way, so the place was already half full by the time I managed to arrive.

I looked for the table I had sat at yesterday; so far, it was empty, save for the array of food and drink that had been placed in the center. I realized, looking around me, that each group of friends seemed to occupy the same table—it made me glad that Brelyna had taken me under her wing, for I wouldn’t have relished trying to make friends (something I had never been particularly good at) just so I might have a proper place to sit and eat my meals.

I had quite finished my breakfast and was half-wishing I’d brought one of my textbooks with me when the table’s usual occupants finally showed up.

“There you are!” said Brelyna, “We were waiting for you! I knocked, and when you didn’t answer, I thought you might be sleeping. I was going to peek in, but Onmund said that probably wouldn’t be right, so we just decided to come down here.”

“A man needs his privacy, Brelyna,” said Onmund, smiling and half-winking at me as they all took seats around me.

“So you’re an early riser,” said Nirya, reaching gracefully for some sliced fruit. “How studious.”

“I suppose that’s not the worst thing anyone’s ever called me,” I said.

She paused, an astonished look on her face. “Whatever do you mean?”

I couldn’t help but think back to all the ways the folk I’d met in Windhelm used to mock me for my literary inclinations. ‘Little Greybeard,’ Ullte liked to call me. _Always got his nose stuck in a book_ , I’d once overheard one maid say to another. _Suppose he thinks he’s better than the rest of us._

I looked at Nirya. I’d assumed she’d been doing the same.

“Nothing,” I said, suddenly shame-faced. “Sorry.”

There was a bit of an awkward silence, then:

“Oh, Nirya,” said Eleanor, who had such a cheerful way of speaking, no matter what the subject matter. “Look at him; he’s not used to our ways yet. Tell him you’re ever so sorry, and maybe he’ll stop looking so awfully sad.”

“Of course,” said Nirya. She turned to me, her face and voice utterly calm. “I’m very sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” I said, blushing harder now because I really felt the fool, even though they were all trying their hardest to set me at ease. “I’ll try not to take offense so easily.”

“Excited about classes?” asked Onmund as he buttered a slice of toast.

“I am,” I said, smiling with relief—I appreciated the topic shift. “The professors left a bunch of books in my room. I guess they’re hoping I can catch up.”

“They do that with every new apprentice,” said Brelyna, “unless the apprentice is able to prove they’re very advanced. Which ones did you read?”

“Well, I only had time to read a few chapters on transfiguration,” I said, grinning because I knew she’d be pleased.

“Oh! What a good choice! Isn’t it the most exciting branch of magic you’ve ever encountered?”

Eleanor groaned. “Great! Thanks for getting her started on the wonders of transfiguration.”

Onmund laughed while Brelyna blushed, though she didn’t look at all upset, instead asserting, “But it _is_ exciting! How can you all not see it?”

“As penance,” said Eleanor, grinning, “You have to tell us what you were doing on the rooftop. Brelyna told us about your mad rush.”

I blanched—it was an unexpected request, to say the least.

“…Do I have to?” I asked, a little annoyed to hear my voice wavering a little. It’s just, I _really_ didn’t want to be bullied into revealing the secret closest to my heart.

“Of course not. _But_ —!” Her warm smile turned just a tad devilish, “if you _don’t_ tell us, we’ll only speculate and gossip about it. We won’t be able to help it!”

“I’m thinking it’s a health thing,” said Onmund. “The need for fresh air and all.”

“But the sea air is ever so bad for the skin,” said Nirya.

“Good for the constitution though.”

“And I thought it might be claustrophobia,” said Eleanor. “Which I’ve only read about, but it would be fascinating to meet someone who suffers from it!”

“I don’t suffer from claustrophobia,” I said, rolling my eyes, though I couldn’t help smiling at their wild theories. “And I don’t have any health issues—that I know of, anyway.”

“So?” asked Brelyna. She exchanged an eager glance with all the others. “What is it?!”

I took a deep breath. Was I really going to do this?

“I left someone,” I said carefully. “Back in Windhelm. Before we parted, he made me promise to—well, if we’re both looking at the same star at the same time, it will feel—as if we’re still together.”

It was one of the hardest admissions I’d ever made. I could feel my heart beating fast as I revealed my secret. It was such a personal thing, this promise we had made. I wanted to immediately unsay what I’d said, but of course I couldn’t.

Brelyna gasped and clasped her hands together over her chest. “I _knew_ it! That’s why you said ‘Ulfric!” just before running off! Your beloved—he’s in the army, isn’t he?”

I paused, shocked to hear her say his name aloud, then amazed that she genuinely hadn’t put two and two together. And more than a little relieved.

“Yes,” I said, still speaking a bit slowly. “He is.”

Naturally, all four immediately started peppering me with questions.

“Who is he?” asked Eleanor, “Tell us about him!”

“What sort of a fighter is he?” asked Onmund, “Is he a Nord?”

“Tell us what he looks like!” cried Brelyna. “Oh, I know he must be indescribably handsome!”

“How very tragic,” said Nirya, “You shouldn’t have let him leave you. He should have accompanied you here.”

Which wasn’t really a question, though it implicitly anticipated an answer just the same.

I hesitated before speaking. This was going to be tricky.

“He’s… I don’t want to tell you what he looks like because… it’s embarrassing!” I said, laughing a little despite myself.

“What’s his name?” asked Eleanor.

I cleared my throat and smiled. “It’s a secret.”

“And yes,” I continued, “He’s a Nord. And… he fights with a long sword, I think. He doesn’t carry a shield. He’s very tall, and…”

And…? And he has clear blue eyes, and yellow hair and beard, broad shoulders and large hands with calloused fingertips. His skin is warm and smooth over his body’s tightly packed muscle, though it’s dotted with many scars. When he kisses me, I feel like I’m drowning in him; when we make love, I know that I belong to him completely, and I know in that moment that there is no happier feeling on this earth.

“And…?” prompted Eleanor.

“And… that’s all I’ll say,” I said, swallowing and forcing a smile, and hoping very much that they didn’t notice the flush I could feel creeping up my face.

“He must be good in bed,” said Onmund, grinning, “You’re red as a beet.”

So much for subterfuge.

“Sure wish I could find someone like that,” he continued, sighing. “I guess that’s just one more way I’ve failed at being the perfect Nord. But if it’s a crime to dream about meeting and falling in love with the most beautiful woman in the world, then brand me a criminal.”

“I’m pretty sure Nords do fall in love,” I said. After all, I had firsthand proof of it.

He shrugged. “Of course they do. But have you ever read any of our stories? No one writes about romance. It’s all battle, and honor, and the glory of Skyrim! I love my country, but I don’t think wanting to fall in love makes me a milk-drinker.” He huffed into his porridge. “Apparently, the rest of my family feels differently.”

“I’ve been in Skyrim for three years now,” I said. “I’ve met all sorts of people. All sorts of _Nords_. And I don’t think wanting to be in love has anything to do with race or skin color or how big your ears are. I think it’s… I think it’s just part of who we are.”

They’d all gone still and silent and were looking at me is if they’d seen a ghost.

“That was very romantic,” commented Nirya.

“Like something from a book!” agreed Eleanor. She grinned at me. “You really have a gift!”

I groaned and ducked my head. “Will you guys _please_ stop teasing me?”

“We’re not! You really are talented!” They all laughed, and I couldn’t help but smile. They were just that silly.

Just then the low _dong!_ of the bell resounded throughout the building.

“That’s first period,” said Brelyna, she and everyone else getting to their feet. “Come on!”

I got up to quickly follow, and noticed, as we all made our way en masse out of the dining hall, that not everyone headed immediately in the same direction. Most of those in blue or black robes headed upstairs, though some made for the hallways housing the laboratories and other such places Brelyna had pointed out yesterday. Still others didn’t even bother getting up from breakfast; these were mostly black robed students, and I supposed master students simply kept very unique schedules. Yet as we began to head towards the first floor classrooms, even some of the other apprentices (and there were far more apprentices than masters or adepts) diverged down opposite hallways.

“We don’t all have the same classes?” I asked, turning back around and hurrying to catch up.

“Of course not!” said Brelyna, “There are far too many of us. There’s no way the professors could attend to so many people in one hour!”

“We’re separated based on where we are in the tower,” explained Onmund. “You, me, Brelyna, and Nirya are all on the first floor, so we have the same schedule.”

“See you guys at lunch,” said Eleanor, as she headed in the direction of the library (presumably—I was all turned around, as usual).

A few mintues later, we entered one of the classrooms I had visited yesterday, though of course it was no longer so dark and empty. Like all the classrooms, it was lined with shelves full of books, containers, scrolls, and presumably various magical artifacts. The center of the room remained bare, but there was a seating area off to the right that looked like the sort of tiered seating one might find in an amphitheater—though I had, of course, only seen such things in books.

Brelyna pulled me towards the seats, Nirya and Onmund following close behind. We sat down, and the other students, all in groups of two or three, did the same.

“What’s Professor Tolfdir like?” I asked, suddenly a little nervous—it was my first experience in a classroom since I’d been a child. “Is he very severe?”

“Severe! Oh, no,” said Brelyna. “He’s very kindly—the kindest teacher here, I think! If you’re having trouble getting something right, he’s very nice about helping you. He won’t call you out in front of everyone the way some of the others will.”

Of course, that, while reassuring me about Professor Tolfdir, had the discouraging effect of making me fear all the others.

“Good morning, good morning, everyone!”

I looked up, blinking in surprise, for I recognized that voice. An older—some might even say elderly—man with white hair and beard emerged from the office area, beaming delightedly up at all of us. It was the same man who had helped me find the dining hall this morning.

“Good morning, professor,” the others responded. I flushed and tried to sit a little lower, for I’d been too surprised to respond with the rest.

“I hope everyone is ready to continue practicing your barriers! Go on, then, go on, pair up! And remember, try not to focus all of your energy to the front of your barrier. The energy should be quite evenly spread out.”

I rose to my feet, hesitantly, just as everyone else did the same. There was a tiny flutter of panic in my chest, even as Brelyna beamed at me and exclaimed that she would be my partner. I didn’t know the first thing about ‘barriers’—in truth, I had no earthly idea what he was talking about. Yet already several of the students, including Onmund and Nirya, had paired off. I watched those two in particular; Nirya stood very still, her eyes closed, an absolutely rigid look of concentration on her face, as a shimmering sphere seemed to come into being, completely encircling her. Onmund, meanwhile, walked all around her, trying to break her concentration, patting at her barrier, even kicking it gently. A few other students were using magic to try and penetrate their partner’s barrier—I even saw one girl cause a little spark to zip from her outstretched fingertip to the barrier of her friend. The friend started, and her barrier seemed to flicker a few times before failing completely.

“Brelyna,” I hissed, grabbing her by the arm and trying to control the pounding of my heart—that tiny spark had brought back very unwelcome memories. “I don’t know how to do that—whatever it is they’re doing.”

“Oh,” she said, clearly surprised, “You can’t even make a barrier?”

“Neither could you, my dear, when you’d first arrived here,” interjected the friendly voice of the professor.

We looked at him and he smiled, his hands clasped behind his back.

“Brelyna, why don’t you go and join Nirya and Onmund? I should like to have a few words with your new friend here.”

“Yes, Professor,” she said, hurrying to do as instructed.

I swallowed and met the older man’s gaze.

“Goodness, you didn’t seem so terribly frightened of me when we met in the hallway this morning,” he said, chuckling. “Am I become so horrible?”

“No, sir,” I said, inwardly chastising myself, for I _did_ have a habit of trying to make myself small before powerful people. Perhaps it came from being a servant for two years.

“Ah, those manners of yours. Such a delight! Now, you must tell me. Have you any experience with magic at all? Now, fear not, my boy, Savos wouldn’t have allowed you to come if he weren’t assured of your talents. Can you offer a demonstration?”

I nodded, swallowing again, and took a deep breath. Calling forth the little flame had been second nature for most of my life, but now I felt a rush of terror—suppose it did not come? But I needn’t have worried. I brought my hands up, cupping them—and there it was. It flickered and sputtered as merrily as ever, its heat causing a tiny corresponding warmth to bloom in my heart as well.

“Remarkable,” breathed the professor, “And you do it with such ease! I’m quite impressed. Did anyone teach you?”

I shook my head. “No, I’ve… always been able to do it, really. I barely even remember the first time it happened.”

“Fascinating! Well, now, have you anything else to show me? Any other abilities?”

I hesitated before answering. I dared not admit to what had happened several months ago. As far as anyone knew, the person who killed those men was still at large. Only Ulfric Stormcloak knew the truth.

I took another deep breath.

“I don’t know what to call it. It looks like lightning. Sparks of lightning, coming out of me, and I can’t control it, I can’t—” I paused, rubbing my hands absently over my arms. “It happens when I’m—I guess when I feel threatened. When I’m being attacked.”

His expression was much more serious now as he regarded me, one hand coming up to stroke his white beard.

“Indeed, indeed,” he murmured. “How very interesting. And you can’t control it? Now, would you say these _sparks_ of yours are large or small? Very powerful or not?”

I bit my lip, remembering, as always, the sight of those black, smoking bodies lying lifeless in the snow.

“Very large,” I said quietly. “Very powerful.”

“My dear boy,” he said, after a silent moment had passed between us, during which I tried very hard to regain my composure, “You should know that I am well aware of the circumstances involving your admittance to the college. No, no!” he added, holding up a hand when I looked up at him, no doubt in horror, “I know nothing specific. I know only that you were admitted under the recommendation of Windhelm’s jarl. That is no small thing, and believe me, Savos would not have agreed to take you in if he did not think you a proper fit for this school.”

He smiled, the expression kind.

“Do you know how magic works, Casien Yedlin?”

I hesitated before shaking my head.

“In its rawest form, it is called _magicka_. Magicka is all around us—in the plants, the animals, the sky—everywhere. Why, it is even in you and me.

“There are some people who are born with the ability to access the magicka in them. Not everyone can! And some better than others.”

He gave me a frank look.  
  
“You, my boy, are a natural talent. It is rare that I see a connection to magicka as powerful as yours. Why, I can practically feel it cascading out of you in waves! It is most remarkable.”

“But…” I frowned, not a little bit confused, “Isn’t it quite natural for my people to have magic? It’s always been in my family. Not my immediate family, but my great-aunt had it, and a few others as well.”

“Yes, the Dunmer have always had a very strong connection to magicka. But yours surpasses anything I’ve seen in years. Now, don’t fret, dear boy, don’t fret. It isn’t a bad thing at all! I can see you are uncomfortable with it, but we’ll soon teach you to control it.”

And so began my first lesson at the College of Magic. He showed me how to focus my thoughts on the magicka within me, as that was the type that would respond the quickest, and I would be able to control it far better than the ‘wild’ magicka elsewhere. It was wild magic, he speculated, which had taken the form of the electric sparks that burst out of me during times of great emotional hardship. It was likely an instinctual form of self-preservation—like an animal lashing out when it’s being cornered.

The little flame was proof that I already knew how to control the magicka within me; I just hadn’t realized that that’s what I had been doing. He had me call up the flame again, only this time with one hand. I naturally managed it quite easily.

“Very good, very good! Now we’re going to try something else entirely. Hold out your hand and bring back our little friend. Ah, wonderful. Now, concentrate on reshaping it entirely. It is no longer a flame at all; it is a shield, a barrier. Stretch it out, if you can. It may have been a little flame, but it can stretch. Excellent, my boy, excellent!”

I left the class feeling downright jubilant—I had created my first ward. It had been tiny, only a little bit bigger than the length of my hand in all directions, but it was something.

“That was pretty impressive,” said Onmund, as we made our way to our next class. “It took me weeks to make my first ward.”

“Yes, and remember how easily it cracked?” asked Nirya. “I recall all I had to do was blow on it.”

“It wasn’t _that_ weak,” he said, his cheeks reddening a little. Brelyna and I exchanged a look and tried not to laugh.

The class I had been dreading most was now at hand: destruction. We entered the classroom, each of us going to stand behind a large desk. There were items on the desk: a vase of flowers, a crystal goblet, and a glass of what looked like water. The other students were chatting animatedly; apparently, items on the desk meant the lesson would be very practical that day, and we would not be stuck listening to a lecture—in essence, we were going to get to blow something up.

The feeling did not sit well with me. I no more enjoyed the thought of destroying something with my magic than I did with my sword. But as I had learned the latter, so I would strive to learn to wield the former.

The professor was an Altmer woman, very beautiful, as they tended to be. She clasped her hands in front of her slender waist and looked at all of us expectantly.

“Good morning, everyone. I understand we have a new student in our midst. Casien?”

I immediately froze—as I tend to do, whenever someone stares purposefully at me across a room of fifteen or so other people. I swallowed.

“Yes, Professor,” I managed.

I heard several of the other students murmuring discreetly. Brelyna gave me an encouraging look.

“Step out from behind your desk and come here, please.”

I hesitated before doing so. Of course I immediately hated the fact that I could feel the eyes of every single student following me as I crossed the space between the desks and came to stand before her.

I had to look up at her, as she was taller than me.

“Stars…” she breathed under her breath.

I frowned, confused by the murmured exclamation.

She smiled then and seemed to shake herself, putting both hands on my shoulders and meeting my eyes again.

“You are going to do a demonstration for us, Casien. Stand here.”

My stomach flipped a few times, a feeling of nausea actually creeping up my throat. _Demonstration?_ What could she possibly expect me to demonstrate? I barely even knew what destruction magic was, though I of course had an inkling. And I’ll admit—I was a little bit scared to learn whether or not I was any good at it.

She moved away from me, then, going to retrieve a potted plant, which she set about ten feet away from me.

“Now then,” she said, straightening and wiping her hands against her robes. “I would like you to light that plant on fire.”

I turned and gaped at her.

“Light it on fire?” I asked. “I can’t do that!”

Behind me, the rest of the class was silent.

She tilted her head, arching one eyebrow.

“Oh? I was told you were quite the powerful mage. Or that you would at least become one. Perhaps the Arch-Mage was mistaken.”

“I don’t know,” I said, feeling myself redden. “I… I wasn’t the one who wrote to him. I don’t know what the letter said.”

“I see. So who was it that wrote the letter?”

I shook my head, my eyes casting downward—I certainly couldn’t reveal _that_ before the entire classroom. I knew my face must be deep red now. I could hear a chuckle or two from behind me.

“Whoever it is, they must have been lying. I’ll have to tell Savos that you don’t belong here at all. What a shame. A Dunmer without any magic is always rather sad, if you ask me.”

I bristled despite myself. “I _do_ have magic.”

“What was that?”

“I said I _do_ have magic,” I snapped, much louder this time.

“Then prove it. Do as I’ve asked and light that plant on fire.”

“I have magic,” I said, tears of frustration and embarrassment starting to fill my eyes, “But I can’t do that! I don’t know how!”

“Are you _really_ going to stand there and cry instead of doing what I’ve asked you?” She took a step closer, her expression darkening. “I gave you an order, apprentice. Light the plant on fire. Raise your hand—yes, just like that. Now _do_ it.”

I bit my lip. I couldn’t understand why she was doing this, why this was happening to me. I didn’t want to cry in front of all these people; all I wanted to do was hide now until I died.

“DO it!” she said. “Do it now, Casien! _Do it!!_ ”

I closed my eyes and ground my teeth together, my heart pounding in my chest. A great warmth seemed to burst out of me, and I staggered back. I opened my eyes and stared in horror at the little plant—for it was now engulfed in flames, flames that flickered and danced so high that they nearly reached the ceiling.

I looked at the professor, who had hastily erected a barrier to protect herself. After a second, she lowered the barrier, then waved her hand at the burnt remains of the plant, causing the fire to instantly dissipate, a sheen of ice now covering the plant.

She gave me a little wink before coming up to me, putting her hands on my shoulders, and turning me to face the class.

“That, apprentices, was wild magic. It is raw, and it is powerful. There may come a time in your lives when you must face a mage as powerful as Casien here. If you hope to live and tell the tale of it, you’ll have to learn how to defend against such a mage.”

She smiled at me and patted my shoulder. “You may return to your desk.”

The class spent the rest of the hour practicing flame and ice spells against the items on their desks. I, meanwhile, could only stand and try to swallow the knot that still lingered in my throat and steady the still harried beating of my heart. I was embarrassed by what had happened, yes, but it was more than that. I knew the professor had only been trying to get me to tap into my innate abilities, however much I might’ve resented her callous methods. And the other students had immediately cheered after my little demonstration; some even clapped me on the back in congratulations. I was the envy of all those around me.

I just couldn’t stop glancing at the smoking remains of the poor little plant.

I had killed it. _Me_.

It seemed I couldn’t manage to get away from this raw and awful power inside me.

“She shouldn’t have used you like that,” said Eleanor, once I’d related the story at lunch. I’d of course left out how humiliated and horrified I’d been made to feel, or the fact that I’d had literal tears in my eyes, simply from being goaded by a well-meaning professor. Believe it or not, as a boy I hadn’t previously been one to give in to tears so readily and openly. But I suppose the last few months had rather taken their toll on me.

“Professor Faralda was only trying to help him recognize his own potential,” said Brelyna, who of course must defend everybody, though even she looked uncertain.

“I’m just glad it wasn’t me,” said Onmund, “No offense!” he added quickly to me. “You handled it bravely enough. I’m sure I would’ve run out of the room like a squawking chicken.”

“That’s because you can barely light your own fingertip on fire,” said Nirya.

“And that’s why she never calls on me!” he said cheerfully.

“Look,” said Eleanor, fixing me with an anxious smile, “the other professors won’t like it, but why don’t you come with me and spend the rest of the day in the library? You can tell me what you’re most interested in, and I’ll find you all sorts of things to read.”

It was such a genuinely kind offer, and I really was in no position, emotionally speaking, to refuse. I accepted wholeheartedly, and I think Brelyna felt bad for defending the professor, for she gave me a hug before running off with the others to class.

That afternoon in the library offered me the peace and clarity I had long been seeking. I half expected Eleanor to chatter at me throughout the rest of the day, but she didn’t. She simply found me a stack of books, set me up in a quiet corner, and left me to myself.

At dinner, the others filled us in on what had happened in the other classes. I had quite calmed down by then, and half-regretted skipping the latter half of my first day. Afterward, I went upstairs to the roof, as I had the previous night, but the sky was gray and cloudy. On the way back downstairs, Nirya stopped me and gave me a small glass ball. _It’s a weather ball_ , she explained. She’d enchanted it to tell her what the weather was like outside. It was very simple: clear glass meant clear skies. Cloudy glass meant the opposite. Moisture beading and dripping along the glass meant either rain or snow.

“I can’t take this,” I said, shocked.

She shrugged. “It’s nothing. I can make another.”

I don’t know what I’d done to deserve such friends. I was awkward and often surly, yet they seemed to disregard these traits entirely. Brelyna in particular seemed to appoint herself my new best friend, and I was too astonished and flustered to refuse. Onmund seemed grateful at no longer being the only man in the group, and Nirya showed her regard in quiet, understated ways. Eleanor was always the brightest person among us; if any of us were feeling down, she was sure to know just what to say to cheer us up.

My first week at the college passed by well enough. By the end of the week, I could create a proper-sized ward, though I still lacked the concentration to lend it the appropriate strength. I remained timid in Faralda’s class; it didn’t sit well with me to destroy the objects on my desk with magic, but I did my best to obey. I enjoyed the other four classes as well. Magical theory proved to be my favorite; it was the last class of the day, and it was often all I wanted to talk about over dinner.

“Do you really think it’s possible that some animals could have as great a connection to magicka as humans, mer, and beast folk?” I asked excitedly before stuffing a piece of bread into my mouth.

It was the Middas after I’d first arrived at the college. My head was still full of Professor Neloren’s lecture, and I couldn’t help but enthuse over all we had learned today.

Onmund shrugged. “I guess it’s possible. At least that’s what the professor said.”

“What then,” I persisted, “is the true origin of magicka? How can an animal have as great a connection as you or me, yet someone like Eleanor has none at all? What is the basis for one’s connection to magicka?”

“Oh, I’d be a terrible mage,” said Eleanor. “I’d much rather let some bunny rabbit have my powers, thanks.”

Brelyna giggled. “Imagine a magic-wielding bunny.”

“The question is,” said Nirya, “if you killed it and made a shawl out of its furs, would it be a magical shawl, and if so, what kind?”

Everyone groaned and told her she was the absolute worst, which I’m sure was just the reaction she was hoping for. Before we could move on to something else (or before I could bring us once again back to Neloren’s lecture), one of the master students called out above the general clamor.

“Mail’s here!”

I sat up, blinking in alarm.

“Mail?” I said, looking at the others.

“Oh,” said Brelyna, “Yes, it comes every Middas and Loredas. Only you weren’t at dinner this Loredas; you said you wanted to study in your room. Remember?”

“You look as if you’ve seen a ghost,” said Onmund, grinning, “Expecting any let…”

But then he trailed off, his eyes widening. He and the others all exchanged a look.

We all watched as the master student went from table to table, reaching into his duffle bag and pulling out one or two letters per table.

“Come on, come on,” muttered Eleanor under her breath as he slowly made his way toward us.

We were all very quiet once he finally arrived at our table.

“Two today,” he said, pulling out an envelope and what looked like a miniature scroll.

The letter he handed to Nirya, whose face remained calm and mildly curious as she opened the letter and began to read it while finishing her dinner. It must have been a letter from family. But the little scroll he handed to me

“Came by way of the rookery,” he said, noticing my confusion.

“The rookery!” I heard Eleanor say, as I unrolled and unfolded the letter with slightly trembling fingers. “ _That_ must’ve cost a pretty septum.”

I recognized the hand-writing immediately.

I stood up suddenly, my heart pounding in my chest, my eyes never leaving the letter.

“I have to go,” I said.

“Of course,” said Brelyna.

I hurried out of the dining hall as fast as my legs could carry me. I’m sure more than a few other students noticed my harried retreat, but I didn’t really care. It felt as if my whole body were shaking; I both longed for and dreaded to scan the contents of the letter, for as soon as I’d read it, it would no doubt be an unbearable wait for the next one.

I entered my room, closing the door behind me, and kicked off my boots before flopping down stomach-first onto my bed. I reopened the letter, smoothing it out… and began to read.

_I have lingered here for some time, wondering how to begin this letter. What form of address should I use? ‘My beloved,’ I thought, or perhaps ‘My heart.’ For you do have my heart, and you are my beloved, though in many ways you are so much more. But I felt as if such an address would embarrass you—and then I wondered if perhaps you did not like to be embarrassed by my words. But in the end, I realized that I was stalling, and so I have simply begun to write._

_I have fought in many great battles, endured hardships that I cannot speak of. Yet leaving you behind was the hardest thing I have ever done._

_You are often in my thoughts, as you were even when we were still together. Galmar, I believe, knows the trappings of my mind, and he chastises me so. And he is right. My focus should be on my cause, and the brave men and women who follow us. And it is—but so it is on you._

_I have two confessions I must make to you. The first is that I cannot shake from my mind my ill-handling of what happened to you some two months back. I will not reveal my plans to rectify my error to you, for I know you shy from violence—even when it is most merited. But know that I am sorry. I failed you, and the thought does weigh heavily upon my heart._

_The second is that you have had my heart for far longer than I have been willing to admit._

_I cannot name the hour or the day when I realized what was happening. But I found myself unable to focus on my duties, and had to be brought back from my thoughts more and more by my advisors. My thoughts were always of you. I struggled with my feelings; at times I resolved to avoid you completely. Yet I always found myself back in our room, waiting for you._

_Perhaps I have loved you from the start._

_I know you: you worry about me, about this war, about all of us. We have faced several skirmishes so far, but this is only the beginning. Soon we shall reach Whiterun. You, my little roebuck, are the only person I can truly reveal this to: I do not know what the outcome is to be. I do not wish to storm the city, and sink my blade into the body of a brother or a sister. And if we should be victorious, I do not know what is to become of Whiterun’s jarl._

_I know I shouldn’t burden you with my thoughts, but I suppose I have never hesitated to do so before. I must end this letter now, lest the bird which it is affixed to find it too heavy to carry._

_Have you been watching our star? I know you, my beloved, my heart. I tell you now to dry your tears, for_

_Though my thoughts be a thousand miles away_  
             _They lie with you as you sleep_ _  
__And kiss you when you start your day._

_Ulfric_

I sniffed once and wiped irritably at my eyes—how well he knew me! I couldn’t help feeling almost viciously angry at myself, even as I lingered over those last three sweet lines. I just couldn’t seem to control my emotions anymore; it was as if I had regressed back into childhood, and every new difficulty I faced was magnified and morphed into horrors ten times what it ought to be.

I curled onto my side and held the letter to my chest. He told me to dry my tears, so I did, and I waited until I felt calm again. I turned over on my back and stared up at the ceiling. I forced myself to reflect on what was most important—first and foremost was that he was still alive and well. But he and the Stormcloak army hadn’t yet entered into their first major battle. I prayed that his next letter would come as swiftly as possible.

What he planned to do to the remaining men who attacked me… he was right in saying I’d rather not know. I wondered that he could not shift his focus from one solitary incident involving someone he cared about to the situation as a whole: to how my people were treated all over his city. I was not the first to be harassed by Rolff and his friends. That incident stood out to me for obvious reasons, but Dunmer women, for instance, had it far worse than I. But I did not hate him for his blindness. He loved me, and I ached to think that he had had this pressing on him for so long.

As for his admission about how long he had loved me … What fools we had both been! In some ways, his reticence was well-placed; here we were, after all, both barely able to function, so caught up in thoughts of one another as we were.

I held the letter up, gazing at it again. He had such a neat hand, though there was nothing elegant about his script. I longed to write him back.

After a moment, I folded the letter and slipped it into the top drawer of one of my bedside tables, where I also kept Nirya’s weather charm. I picked it up—it was clear. I got up and went to retrieve my cloak from the wardrobe, then pulled on my fur-lined gloves.

Most of the other apprentices were still at dinner, so the common area was clear as I made my way upstairs and to the rooftop door. Outside, the weather was clear in more ways than one; the wind was less harsh than it had been all week, and though it was still well below freezing up here, it was certainly more bearable than usual.

I walked over to the edge of the roof, resting my gloved hands on the parapet, and gazed up at Azura’s star.

“I received your letter today,” I said, watching as my breath puffed out of my mouth and lingered in the frigid air.

I swallowed.

“I wish I could reply. I wish I could be with you right now.”

 _But wishing won’t make it true_ , I thought, my fingers curling into the stone parapet, scraping the leather of the gloves.

I took a deep breath; the cold air seemed to burn my lungs, but it was a good feeling. It cleared my head some.

“I’m sorry you feel that way about what happened to me. For what it’s worth—I think you were very good, and very kind, and—I know it must be hard to be a king. But you shouldn’t second guess yourself so much. When you return home, we’ll figure it out together.”

I blinked the sudden tears from my eyes, that old deep feeling of sadness and regret building up in my chest. My grip on the stone parapet tightened, and I tried to swallow the ever present knot in my throat.

“I feel like—I feel like I might be broken. I can’t seem to stop crying, and I don’t know why. I have friends, and I don’t think I deserve them. I have magic, but I don’t think I want it. I thought I wanted to read and learn and experience new things, but now I realize all I really want is to be back home, with you.” I squeezed my eyes briefly shut. “I wish you were here. I miss talking to you. Nothing else seemed to matter when we were together. Now it’s—it’s all wrong.”

My words felt childish, spoken aloud as they were, but they were true. Truer than I had even realized before speaking them. I sniffed and wiped at my eyes, pressing my lips together and staring back up at the star.

“I’m going to try. Try to focus on my studies here instead of on—us. And you should do that, too. Focus on the war, and your people. Everyone’s depending on you, and that’s because they believe in you. Because you’re strong, and you’re good, and you’re brave. And—I hope it isn’t dishonorable of me to ask this, but please be careful. You’re right; I don’t know anything about war or battle. But I still want to see you again. And if that’s selfish, than I guess I’m just selfish.”

I took another deep breath, then did something I had never done before—I closed my eyes, and said aloud:

“Akatosh, Arkay, Dibella. Julianos, Kynareth, Mara, and Stendarr. Zenithar and Talos. I have never asked for anything else before this, nor will I ever ask for anything afterward. I thank you for saving me all those years ago. But please—save him, too. _Please_.”

I opened my eyes, took one more look up at the star, then turned and headed back through the rooftop floor.

My tears had thankfully ceased to be, but I must have still looked rather overwrought as I exited the stairs and entered the apprentice tower common room. For there were my friends, all anxiously gathered in the center, talking softly among themselves. As one, they looked over at me, their faces filled with worry.

“I hope it wasn’t bad news,” said Brelyna, finally coming forward. She took my hand and squeezed it, and I couldn’t help smiling.

“No,” I said. “It was good. He’s alive.”

“Huzzah!” cried Eleanor, throwing up her arms, and Onmund did the same, laughing. Even Nirya smiled.

“We should celebrate!” continued Eleanor. “Next Loredas. We’ll go into town and have drinks at the Frozen Hearth.”

I blinked. “We can do that?”

“Of course, silly,” said Brelyna. “We’re not children; the professors don’t mind what we do on our off-time.”

And so it was settled: my new friends and I would go out drinking at the end of the week to celebrate the continued existence of my anonymous lover. Once alone in my room for the night, I couldn’t help laughing at how ridiculously supportive they were. Maybe it was time I stopped questioning whether or not I truly deserved them, and instead simply focus on appreciating them.

Later, before bed, I remembered to light a candle before the mage lights dissipated, and I lay on my stomach and read and reread my letter. I didn’t weep. In fact, I may have even had a smile on my face, as I traced over the words of the little poem he’d written me. When I finally closed my eyes that night, it was to thoughts of the person I most loved in the world, struggling to find the words to tell me how he loved me—my great old bear lover, whom everyone thought so aloof and hard of heart.

I suppose only I alone knew better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. "I have loved you from the start" is from the absolutely beautiful song "[All About Your Heart](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NMadRqE9aGE)" by Mindy Gledhill. Honestly, if you really want to know what Ulfric thinks of Casien, how his feelings have progressed (since we never really do see things from his point of view) just listen to that song. It's almost word-for-word, minus the Van Gogh reference ;)
> 
> 2\. The three lines of poetry Ulfric writes in his letter are from Paul Simon's "Kathy's Song."


	18. Chapter 18

And so my life at the college continued. I learned more and more each day, soaking up knowledge as if I were a sponge. Though I most enjoyed magical theory, and consequently became known as something of an overachiever in that class, I was, not surprisingly, most skilled in destruction. It seemed to come naturally to me. Whether Professor Faralda sensed my unease with my own abilities or not, I couldn’t say, but I suppose I did my best to hide it. I did put my foot down and refuse to destroy anything living—not that the professor was some sort of villain who had us lighting kittens on fire or anything, but we might, for instance, be asked to freeze an ant as it tracked its way through the dirt (it was not unusual, as the days began to warm and the weather grew less severe, for us to occasionally trek outside the college itself). Such an exercise was no doubt meant to encourage finesse and control, but I staunchly refused to partake. There were no penalties for refusing, as there were no exams; there was only what every apprentice greatly anticipated and hoped for: being officially dubbed an adept.

I did reasonably well in all my classes, to tell the truth. My wards were fair-sized and strong. I could enchant a mechanical bird to sing, and I could use illusion magic to briefly change the color of my eyes and hair. Transfiguration I was less accomplished in; Professor Mirabelle told me firmly that I lacked conviction, the desire to command. I didn’t find this to be much of a fault, though, and paid it very little mind.

And yes—I continued to receive letters from the king.

His letter would come every two weeks or so, and I poured over each one as if it held the greatest secrets of the universe. In one, he told me of an injury Galmar’s eldest daughter had sustained, but it was fortunately not serious. In another, he talked about the invasion of Whiterun. That city’s jarl had been confined to a section of the castle, for he had a family of young children. It seemed likely the jarl would be exiled, though this would be at the discretion of whomever the new jarl was, and he did not know if the children would be forced to share that exile with their father. War, I knew, was an ugly, bloody, awful business, and I knew he spared me the details, just as he had when we used to meet in our room.

Over two months had passed since I’d first made my unceremonious entrance into the college. Ulfric had written to me four times, and I treasured each and every letter. I would read them before bed each night and go to sleep, not weeping, but comforted that he still lived, and still thought of me. Silly of me, perhaps, and sillier still to worry that he might one day think of someone else. I suppose I could never quite forget how different we truly were—how unlikely it was that we had ever come together in the first place.

My friends still remained ignorant as to his identity. I think they rather enjoyed the mystery of it all, and maybe that’s why they liked to press me for details. I liked to say that he was well, but little else. Occasionally, Onmund would ask for details about the war. But I considered everything Ulfric shared with me to be confidential, so I refrained from revealing too much, other than that the Stormcloak army seemed to be slowly advancing. That seemed to satisfy his curiosity on the matter.

I’m still not sure why I kept the identity of my lover a secret. Maybe I feared that no one would really believe me—that a little nothing like me had the High King of Skyrim as his lover. Or maybe I just felt as though secrecy had simply long been a part of our relationship—as though telling other people about it would soil it somehow.

Such a foolish notion, really.

“I’ve figured it out,” said Nirya, one morning during breakfast. “He’s an officer.”

“What makes you say that?” asked Brelyna, her eyes widening—evidently, the thought of me engaging in a love affair with a Stormcloak officer was an exciting one.

Nirya smiled primly.

“The letters,” she said, casting me a sly look, “They always come by bird. That’s very expensive. Only an officer could afford it.”

“That’s good,” said Eleanor, lowering her piece of toast in apparent amazement. “I hadn’t really thought of that. Good job, Nirya!”

“Anyone want to talk about something other than Casien’s love life?” asked Onmund.

“Nope,” said Eleanor, “Okay,” she added, turning to me, “If he’s some kind of officer, he must be older than you.”

“An older lover!” said Brelyna, “How romantic!”

I rolled my eyes. “Why is that more romantic?”

“It just is!” She sighed. “It’s like something in a book. The innocent young mage falls in love with the strapping lieutenant…”

“That’s ridiculous,” I said, scoffing and obviously unsuccessfully trying to hide how embarrassing that sounded.

“Ohh, I think we’re onto something,” said Eleanor. “He’s blushing.”

“You guys should leave him alone,” said Onmund. “If he wants to tell you, he’ll tell you.”

“So, wait,” continued Eleanor, clearly ignoring him, “How old are you anyway? I want to get the right picture in my head.”

I cleared my throat. “Well, actually… I turn twenty today.”

All four of my friends stopped what they were doing and just gaped at me.

“Today’s your _birthday_ , and you didn’t tell us?!” Brelyna finally burst out. She looked almost hurt.

I shrugged. “Sorry. I guess I’m not used to really celebrating.”

“Oh, we’re definitely celebrating,” said Onmund. “We’re going to town tonight and getting you drunk. Then maybe the girls can wrangle the truth out of you and we’ll never have to talk about this ever again.”

“But I thought you _looooved_ romance,” cooed Eleanor. “Whatever happened to, ‘I just want to meet the beautiful woman of my dreams!’?”

“Shut up,” he muttered, his face turning red as he stuffed some more porridge into his mouth.

So it was settled: we would go and have dinner at the inn in town tonight. I think they were probably all more excited than I was; I didn’t necessarily dislike the inn, but it was full of people I didn’t know, which I admit made me a little nervous. I also didn’t particularly like the idea of being the focus of everyone’s reason for celebrating—even when we’d gone to ‘celebrate’ my first letter, it had really only been an excuse to drink.

Brelyna had to assist Professor Mirabelle with a little project. Meanwhile, Nirya and Onmund ventured outside to practice wards and destruction spells. Eleanor, of course, had to report to the library. I chose to spend my Loredas afternoon there, as well—surprising no one, I’m sure.

Around five o’clock we met up at the outer gate, Brelyna, Eleanor, and I meeting Nirya and Onmund.

“What were you guys doing all day?” I asked the latter two, for I couldn’t imagine spending all day just practicing spells.

“Shopping,” said Nirya, who then handed me a package.

“I thought we were going to wait!” exclaimed Onmund.

“Oh, are we giving our presents now?” asked Brelyna.

I blinked, trying not to feel too overwhelmed. “You guys didn’t have to get me presents.”

“Well, no worries on my account,” said Eleanor. “I’ve been in the library all day. Come on, let’s let him open his gifts once we’re inside. It’s too cold out here!”

It was late Mid Year, yet the air was still a bit chilly. I don’t think it ever gets truly warm in Winterhold, and there was even still a bit of dirty snow on the ground as we made our way through town.

Wandering college students aren’t exactly an uncommon sight around here, yet some people still seemed wary whenever we passed them. It reminded me of living in Windhelm to some extent, only there it was on account of the color of my skin and the tilt of my ears. Mothers kept their children close, and some folk muttered, well, less than complimentary things when we passed. But we were used to it, and sometimes Nirya even liked to startle them by flicking a mage light into the air or making a little whirlwind appear in the snow. Brelyna and Onmund chastised her, but I always found it a little amusing.

Of course, not everyone in Winterhold felt that way; people closer to our age never seemed to pay us any mind, and the shops in town certainly welcomed our business. The inn, despite my own personal discomfort, tended to be something of a haven for college folk, and naturally also catered to people from out of town who might not harbor such prejudices, especially those from the south and far west.

The inn was a little emptier than usual, what with the war going on. It was a sobering thought, but I refused to let myself dwell on it, and instead followed my friends to an empty table. We ordered dinner and drinks, after which I was practically ordered to open my gifts.

“Open mine first,” said Nirya.

I took the package for the second time and untied and unfurled the burlap cloth, revealing a warm and cozy-looking green scarf.

“You always look so cold,” she said by way of explanation.

I laughed. “Thank you, Nirya,” I looped it around my shoulders; it _was_ very warm, and, I couldn’t help wryly thinking, thick enough so that I could hide my face the next time one of the professors chastised me for being too timid or too cautious or—well, any number of _too’s_ , apparently.

“Here’s mine,” said Onmund, handing me another package.

I knew what it was from the shape and feel of it even before I opened it.

“A book!” I said, a smile coming to my face as I revealed the cover. “ _A Thousand Nights: Tales from Hammerfell_.” I looked up at him, beaming. “Thank you, Onmund!”

He grinned. “Well, I should probably come clean and admit that Nirya paid for the book and I paid for the scarf.”

“My family sends me way too much coin each month,” said Nirya, shrugging.

“I just thought it would be weird to give you a scarf,” he continued (which was probably the most charming explanation for not giving a gift I’d ever heard). “Then I saw the book shop, and, well…”

“I love it,” I said. “I love both of them.”

“My turn!” said Brelyna, eagerly pulling something out of her robe pocket. “I had them made this afternoon. I hope you like them. One’s for me, and one’s for you. What do you think?”

I blinked as she triumphantly held up what looked like two tiny wooden objects, each suspended on a miniature chain, presumably so that they could be worn around the neck.

“It’s…” I took one of them, frowning at the tiny carving in my hand, “a star?”

She beamed. “Yes! I know how you and your handsome Stormcloak officer have a special star together, so I thought we could have one, too! That way whenever we’re apart—I mean, we’re bound to go our separate ways eventually, after we graduate—we’ll always have these!”

Everyone was silent for a moment or two, then Eleanor cleared her throat. “Brelyna, …that’s a little…”

“Creepy,” said Nirya.

Onmund choked a little on his beer.

Brelyna looked taken aback. “It is?”

“No!” I said quickly, “It’s not! Really, Brelyna, I… I love it.” I smiled and pulled the chain over my head, and in truth… it was rather touching. “I love all my gifts. You guys are the best.”

“Well, that settles it,” said Eleanor, “I’m buying your dinner and all your drinks tonight. I have _got_ to be included in this little love fest.”

I grinned. “Great, because I’m sort of running low on coin. Being at school is wonderful, but being unemployed really isn’t.”

“Can’t your family send you money?” asked Brelyna.

I froze.

“Um…” I said, not sure how to answer.

“My family are the same way,” Onmund said quickly, “They don’t even acknowledge I exist anymore, so I can’t really rely on them for septums. But there’re things you can do around school, you know, or in town, once or twice a month, to earn a bit of coin. Chop wood, pull weeds, clean a barn…”

It all sounded a little too horrifically familiar, and I couldn’t help wincing at the thought.

“I spent my first year in Windhelm doing pretty much just that,” I admitted. “Though not everyone was willing to pay a Dunmer, even for little odd jobs.”

“…Were you very poor in Windhelm?” asked Brelyna. I thought she sounded a bit more hesitant than normal.

They were all looking at me with expectant, worried faces. So finally I just sighed.

“I’m an orphan,” I explained. “My parents died years ago. I came to Windhelm with my aunt and uncle, but they’ve moved south since.” At least I thought that’s where they’d gone. “And you guys can all stop looking at me like that because I’m completely fine now.”

“That’s right!” said Brelyna, brightening again. “We’re your family now!”

I laughed—it was so hard not to around her.

“Sure,” I said, “You guys are my family now.”

Our dinner arrived, and we scarfed it down as if it were a meal fit for kings and queens and not run-of-the-mill stew. We would likely have eaten better up at the college, but there was just something a little bit exciting about eating out with friends. Maybe it was a bit stifling at times for us all to be in our late teens—only Nirya was older than me, I think, and only just—and yet still have to live as if we were school children, eating our breakfast, lunch, and dinner at scheduled times, attending classes, and the like. Not that we weren’t all far more happier here than we’d ever been elsewhere—well, there was only one place I _had_ been happier, but there was no use thinking about it now. Nevertheless, we were probably all just a little bit too eager to enjoy ourselves that night.

And enjoy ourselves we did. We weren’t the only students out that night, but I think we must have been the loudest. It didn’t take long for me to overcome my discomfort at being surrounded by strangers or at being the center of my friend’s attentions.

And I suppose by ‘it didn’t take long’ I really mean ‘it didn’t take too many drinks.’

“Ysmir’s Beard, you’re a lightweight!” exclaimed Onmund

“And you’re any better?” I snorted. “Your cheeks are redder than a whore’s backside.”

Eleanor and Onmund both immediately cracked up; Nirya blinked slowly at me as if she wasn’t sure she’d just heard what she’d heard. Meanwhile Brelyna looked as if she might faint.

“Sorry,” I said, grinning, “I’ve lived among some rough people.”

“You should talk like that more often!” said Eleanor, laughing. “Maybe then people wouldn’t underestimate you.”

I scoffed and emptied the rest of my beer. “People don’t underestimate me.”

“They do!” said Brelyna, “It’s because you’re so tiny and cute! And I know how you feel! Only you’re _actually_ powerful and amazing, and I’m not.”

“You’re powerful and amazing, too!” said Eleanor.

“Well, you’re amazing,” said Nirya.

“Wait, wait, wait.” I held up my hands. “I’m _tiny_ and _cute_?!”

Onmund laughed, his face turning only redder as a result. “Man, talk about a backhanded compliment.”

“Well, you are!!” said Brelyna, and I could tell she was definitely drunk because it was like she was speaking with more exclamation marks than usual. “You’re so little, almost as little as me. And your face is so round, and your _freckles_ —!”

“Brelyna, I’m a _Dunmer_ , same as you! It’s not my fault we’re not tall!”

“Yeah, but you’re shorter than most Bosmer,” Onmund put in. “Even Professor Enthir towers over you.”

“He doesn’t _tower_ over me; he’s like an inch taller!”

Eleanor stood up suddenly. “Anybody want another round?”

I stood up as well, rolling my eyes. “You’re wobbling. I’ll get them this time.”

“Nope! I said I’m buying, so I’m buying!”

“So give me some coin then.”

I pocketed the coins she handed me and made my way up to the bar. I don’t know why Onmund insisted on calling me a lightweight; I felt perfectly fine, though I suppose I _was_ able to acknowledge that walking up to a crowded bar wasn’t something I’d be willing to do when sober.

“Five more bottles, please,” I said, when one of the innkeepers—I think they were a married pair—came to take my order.

She gave a little huff of amusement as she took my coin. “You lot sure are having some fun tonight.”

I grinned. “It’s my birthday.”

“Is it!” She paused and looked at me, a slow smile curling onto her face. “Well, now, I suppose that _does_ call for a celebration.” She held up a finger. “Now you just wait right here. I’ll be right back.”

I nodded, a little taken aback, as I still wasn’t used to people being kind just for the sake of it. After a second, I slid onto one of the barstools, my fingers tapping against the bar.

“I suppose congratulations must be in order.”

I started and turned at the sound of the unfamiliar voice, and looked up into the face of a tall Altmer man I’d never seen before. His long blond hair was receding a little, and his blue eyes had faint creases at the corners, yet though I had seen many handsome older high elves, there was just something unsettling about his face.

“Thank you,” I finally said, and I suppose I wasn’t so intoxicated that I didn’t still stutter when speaking to a person I didn’t know.

He smiled. “My apologies, young man. I didn’t intend to startle you. Perhaps I should properly introduce myself.” He held out his hand, and, after hesitating a bit, I took it, shaking it. “My name is Nelacar. And you… ahh, I see; _you_ must be Savos’s new star pupil. So, it’s your birthday, is it?”

“Yes, sir,” I said, for I somehow had the feeling that he was a person of some import. Not many folk were on a first name basis with the Arch-Mage, after all. “But I don’t know about being Professor Aren’s star pupil. I haven’t even met him yet.”

It didn’t surprise me in the least that the Arch-Mage didn’t really bother with apprentices. Supposedly, he mentored several master students, and handled a lot of the college’s more serious non-teaching business. I had seen him from a distance from time to time, but had yet to interact with him. He was a bit of an intimidating figure, if I’m at all honest, even if he was a Dunmer like me.

“Oh, but he talks about _you_ ,” the older man replied. “It’s always the Dunmer, isn’t it? Somehow you always end up being the most gifted.”

I blinked. “Gifted? Me?”

“‘I’ve a new student whose connection to magicka is so strong it often manifests as wild magic.’ I believe those were his words. He was quite interested to see how you’ll grow into your abilities these next few years.”

I was a little bit stunned. I knew about the ‘wild magic,’ of course—I’d been working hard to control it, or to restrict myself to the magicka inside me. Professor Faralda had shown me that emotions—particularly anger and fear—strengthened my connection, so I was a bit of a work in progress at the moment. On the one hand, I needed to control my emotions better (and, for the record, I believe I had). But on the other hand, relying on my own magicka was tiring; it was far easier, not to mention more intoxicating, to reach out to the magicka all around me.

But, of course, that usually resulted in something blowing up, so I did my best to avoid it, even in the controlled environment of the classroom.

I shook my head, coming back to the present.

“But… don’t Altmer often have magic, too?” I asked. “I don’t think we’re any more powerful than your people.”

“Certainly not. But it does seem to be the Dunmer who are favored at Winterhold College.” He chuckled and sipped from his little glass of, if I had to have guessed, whiskey. “Dear me, I sound rather like a bigot, don’t I? Pay me no mind, my boy. You see, I was a student myself once, long ago. My very best friend was a Dunmer, believe it or not. I rather thought our talents were fairly equal, yet he was often favored over me. Of course, it all came to nothing, as my friend ended up being exiled. And then, what do you know: another Dunmer became Arch-Mage.”

“You don’t tell the story quite as convincingly as you think you do, Nelacar.”

I started a little, for I hadn’t noticed the man who was now standing near us, his arms folded over his narrow chest. His hood was drawn up, but nevertheless, I recognized him immediately.

“Professor Aren,” I said, sitting up just a little straighter. “And Professor Mirabelle!”

Mirabelle stood beside him, and she gave me a little nod and a smile.

“Good evening, Casien. I see you and your friends are celebrating.”

“Yes, Professor,” I said. “It’s my birthday.”

“Happy birthday,” she said, smiling again.

“And how, pray tell, am I not convincing?” asked Nelacar, his smile decidedly less warm.

“Why, in convincing the boy that you hadn’t anything to do with Malyn’s exile,” said the Arch-Mage. “You would have him believe, I suppose, that you dropped out willingly. Or perhaps that you left in a fit of pique after not being chosen as Arch-Mage.”

“Not at all,” returned Nelacar. “You judge me too harshly, Savos, as usual. Yes, I suppose I’m bitter about what happened—how could I not be? But I assure you I truly did not mean to sway the lad against you.”

“No, I’m sure you did not,” said Professor Aren, his eyes narrowing. “How curious that you should find it prudent to bring up this old friend of yours—he is due to arrive any day now. But I suppose you already know that.”

“I didn’t.” And to his credit, Nelacar looked genuinely surprised. “I’m rather shocked you’d allow it, Savos, all things considered.”

The other man sighed. “I feared my own prejudices, so I left the decision up to my senior faculty. They voted to allow the visit. He _claims_ to need my help with something. As his indiscretions were so long ago…” He shrugged. “I have no justifiable reason to refuse him.”

“I see.” Nelacar was silent for a moment, then: “You should take care, Savos. I know you think he and I are still in communication, but believe me, we are not. Yet I don’t believe he has changed all that much these past 20 or 30 years.”

“I should be an addle-headed old man before I require advice from _you_ , Nelacar.”

“Come, Savos,” said Mirabelle, resting her hand gently on his arm. “Perhaps we shouldn’t air our differences in front of the students.”

He sighed again. “Of course.” Then his eyes met mine, and I’m glad he didn’t ask me anything, for I’m sure I wouldn’t have been able to speak. “Good evening, young man. I hope we didn’t spoil your celebration.”

He nodded at me, then he and the other professor turned to leave.

Nelacar lifted his glass and saluted me.

“I must apologize as well. I certainly didn’t intend to upset you in any way. Good evening, and—happy birthday.”

He smiled and turned, heading towards a small empty table in the far corner of the inn.

“There we are!”

I whirled around, blinking as the smiling innkeeper returned, this time carrying a rather fancy looking bottle.

“Stros M’Kai rum. We just received a shipment yesterday but haven’t had a chance to unpack it.” She put the bottle on a tray, along with five empty glasses. “Now, this is normally worth more than you or your friends could ever afford—and you can trust me on that one, my lad; I’m not meaning to be rude—but I’ll give it to you tonight for the same price as five beers.”

“Thank you,” I said, struck again by her kindness. “Thank you very much!”

She laughed. “Just promise you’ll all go on home once you’ve done with the bottle. I’d hate to have to send for the college to come and tote your unconscious bodies back, silly things.”

My friends, naturally, were overjoyed when they saw me returning with a bottle of ridiculously expensive rum. Once we’d all poured ourselves a glass (all of us coughing and sputtering, yet declaring it the finest beverage we’d ever partaken of nonetheless), I related what had happened while I was waiting at the bar.

“Malyn,” said Eleanor, frowning. “I’ve never heard of him. I’ll have to ask Professor Urag.”

“He sounds very dangerous,” said Brelyna, shuddering.

“But surely the Arch-Mage wouldn’t have agreed to let him return if he thought he were still a danger,” said Nirya.

We all exchanged an uneasy look.

My disturbing encounter notwithstanding, we still managed to enjoy the rest of our evening. As promised, I insisted that we all return to the tower once the bottle of Stros M’Kai was finally empty. As we made our slightly unsteady way back home, it was Onmund who appeared to be having the most trouble remaining upright. Nirya had to help him, and she enlisted Brelyna’s aid as well.

Eleanor and I walked a little behind them, both of us a little lost in our thoughts, and no doubt more than a little drunk. I gazed up at the clear night sky, the stars fuzzing slightly until I blinked. I smiled, just a little, for there it was: our star. _Don’t forget_ , I thought. _Don’t forget to watch over him. You promised._

Of course, no goddess or star had promised any such thing, and even my own little prayer had been to the gods of this land, not of my own. Yet I made my renewed plea nonetheless.

“Which one is it?” asked Eleanor, her soft voice disturbing my thoughts.

I glanced at her, and she smiled. After a moment, I smiled back, my eyes lowering for a second before looking up at the sky again.

“That one,” I said, pointing. “Azura’s star.”

She huffed in soft amusement, her breath puffing out into the chilly midnight air.

“That’s very thoughtful of him.” She cast me a sideways look. “Very romantic.”

I laughed a little.

“I suppose he is romantic. In his own way.”

“He writes you letters,” she said, giving me a playful nudge as we walked.

I smiled. “He does.”

We were both silent for a while, then…

“You must miss him so much,” she said. “I don’t think you really even know how sad you seemed to all of us when you first came here. You’re much better now, but I can still tell: you’re worried about him.”

“Yes,” I admitted, and despite all my convictions, all my efforts these past few weeks to strengthen my emotional resolve, I could feel my throat closing up.

“I’m sorry,” she said, reaching out to lay a gloved hand on my shoulder. “I shouldn’t have asked you about him.” She rubbed my back a little before lowering her hand again. “Happy birthday, Casien Yedlin. May you see your love again someday. And by the gods, may I never find myself so crazy in love!”

We laughed together, both of us gripping the sides of the bridge as we now began to cross. The cold air seemed to be doing Onmund some good, for he’d rallied and appeared to be walking on his own now.

Back in the tower, we said our good-byes before disappearing into our respective rooms. I sighed, happy, albeit a little melancholy after my conversation with Eleanor, and took my boots, cloak, gloves, and new scarf off. I set my new book down, and—

I stared at my bed in shock. There, placed in the center, unfurled so I could see it, though still folded so that its contents remained private, was a letter.

Today was a mail day, yes, but I hadn’t been expecting anything. This one had arrived far earlier than normal. Heart pounding in my chest, I hurried to my bed, grabbing the letter and flopping down onto my stomach. I unfolded it with trembling hands and began to read:

_My heart—I have much to tell you. My mind is scattered to the winds, and the healers say I need rest, but what I need most is you at my side._

_Those lines will no doubt alarm you. Yes, I have been injured. Fear not. Arkay shall not come for me yet._

I paused in my reading, my right hand going unconsciously to my mouth, muffling a startled sob. What I had long been dreading—it was finally happening. Such was the harried, grief-stricken state of my mind as I hurriedly read through the rest of the letter.

 _I sit here, semi-reclined like a useless old man, going over every detail, questioning myself, counting the list of casualties in my head. We were surrounded. Like lowing cattle, we were herded into the field, into the valley, and set upon from both sides. Many warriors died—proud, loyal sons and daughters of Skyrim. And_ **I** _am the one to blame. I should have waited for the scouts; I should have seen this coming. Yet I did not. I still have their hearts, Galmar assures me, but I do not deserve it. I do not._

_We prevailed. Many perished, but we prevailed. The Imperial army is scattered into the mountains, and we have spent days, tending our wounded and burning the bodies of the dead. That will anger the gods and our ancestors, the people say, but we have no choice. So much death will fallow the land._

_I frighten you. Perhaps the healers are right, and I have become fevered. Little roebuck, sweet Casien, I would that you were here. What a fool I was to send you away! If you were here with me, I should not feel pain. I should feel as if my leg were strong again, and I should rise up and walk amongst my people once more. Onward, onward, we would march, to purge this land of its oppressors._

_I should not speak to you of war. Your eyes should never read of blood and death and suffering. May I confess something to you? How strange that he should ask, you think, for never have I asked before. I am a king. I sought that title, and yet I did not. I urge men and women to war, and yet I doubt. These doubts plague me as I lie here, useless—perhaps not so fresh, perhaps festering in my head, poisoning my resolve._

_Now, I tell you: I am tired of war. I am weary of death._

_The only truth I know is you._

_Ulfric_

**_\-- He’s in a fever now. I’ve not read his words to you, fear not. I wouldn’t send this had he not ordered me to do so. Damn him._ **

**_Galmar Stone-Fist_ **

I stared at Galmar’s parting words in horror—pure shock and unadulterated horror. Half of Ulfric’s letter made no sense at all, and it was clear why. Whatever injury he had sustained in battle had become infected, and now he lay in his bed, overcome by fever. My heart pounded painfully in my chest; tears gathered in my eyes. I curled my hands into fists, crumpling the letter up in my palms before burying my face into them.

But I didn’t weep. I didn’t collapse in a fit of tears the way I had that dark night, so long ago now, it felt, when Ysme had put her arms around me and held me as if I were one of her little brothers. Instead, I felt faint, and my hands shook, and my heart continued to pound in my chest. I tried to breathe, to steady my nerves, but there was no use in it. The king—the man who yet carried my heart with him, and how clear it was that his was still with me!—he may, at this moment, lie dead

I lay awake for hours, my bleary eyes staring at the ceiling. Surely, if they existed at all, the gods were beyond cruel. But suppose they would save him yet? Perhaps it was a test. To test my faith in them, my faith in him. Ulfric Stormcloak couldn’t die.

Not while I yet lived.


	19. Chapter 19

Morning brought the clarity that nighttime so often refuses to indulge. When I opened my eyes, his fate, of course, was the first thing on my mind. He had said as much in his letter, that the god of death was not ready for him—I might have appreciated slightly less poetic language, as straightforward speech did not require interpretation, but that much seemed clear. And truly, if Ulfric Stormcloak had fallen in battle, I suspected even Winterhold would have learned about it by now.

That didn’t mean he was out of danger. But it was the sort of reasoning that would allow me to get out of bed, put on my clothes, and begin my day.

It was Sundas, the one day each week they didn’t ring the morning bell, but as sleeping in would result in missing breakfast, we usually all turned up around the usual time. This morning was no different, though the fact that we were all a little hung over had something to do with how sleepy we still looked and felt.

And, I’ll admit, I was grateful for it, for it helped me to hide my own low feelings.

“You look like shit,” said Onmund, as I flopped down opposite him and Nirya.

“Says the man who looks like shit,” I mumbled. “Only shittier.”

“Aren’t you two charming,” said Nirya, rolling her eyes as she peeled and carefully sliced her banana. I had, by the way, never even seen a banana before coming to Winterhold. In many ways, living at the college was like living in a totally different world.

I suppose Onmund and I must have been the heaviest drinkers last night, for when Eleanor arrived she looked downright chipper. But then, when didn’t she? Maybe even hung over Eleanor was still sunshine and rainbows. I was too tired and distracted to really tell.

“You poor things,” she said, as soon as she saw us, “Maybe Professor Marence can mix you up a potion.”

“But that would mean actually talking to Professor Marence,” grumbled Onmund.

“Which means we’d get a scolding,” I agreed.

“Maybe you both deserve a scolding,” said Nirya.

“And maybe Altmer hold their liquor better,” I said, not really in a mood to indulge her. “But that’s no reason to be such a snob about it.”

I was grumpily shoveling oatmeal into my mouth when I realized the other three were all staring at me with widened eyes—slightly reddened and droopy eyes in Onmund’s case, but widened just the same.

I swallowed and set down my spoon.

“I’m sorry,” I said. I rubbed my own eyes and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Nirya. I didn’t mean that. I just… really, I just don’t feel good right now.”

“You and me both,” said Onmund, laying his head down on the table with a groan.

My own headache and queasy stomach were, in many ways, a pleasant distraction from the anxiety nipping at my brain. I suppose the reason I didn’t wish to share the awful news I’d received last night was because I knew they’d want to talk about it. And talking about it… well, only last night Eleanor had commented on how much happier I had seemed of late. I didn’t want to fall back into my old ways. It must be hard to befriend someone who seemed constantly drenched in melancholy and grief.

I took another deep breath and resolutely picked up my spoon again.

“Casien,” I heard Eleanor murmur beside me, “Is something the matter?”

“Good morning!” said Brelyna, rescuing me from having to answer. I looked up at her bright smile and couldn’t help returning it.

“Good morning,” I said.

“ _How_ are you so happy?” asked Onmund. He hadn’t even picked his head up from the table.

Brelyna beamed as she sat down, seemingly oblivious to our friend’s sour mood.

“What’s not to be happy about? It’s a beautiful morning, I’m surrounded by my best friends in the whole world, and I’m about to have breakfast! Isn’t life amazing!”

I rolled my eyes, still smiling. “How do you even know it’s a beautiful morning?”

She shrugged. “I can just _feel_ it. Can’t you?”

“If you say so.”

“Did you get a chance to read through your new book?” asked Eleanor. “I haven’t had a chance to read many tales from Hammerfell. That’s a rare find!”

I sometimes forgot she loved reading as much as I did.

“Not yet,” I admitted. “I was… really tired last night, I guess.”

“I was hoping you’d bring it this morning,” she said. “We have copies of a few stories from _The Tales_ but they’re very old. Professor Urag says they were probably translated by someone who didn’t speak the Yokudan language as their native tongue.”

“I’ve read that the tales are Dwemer in origin anyway,” I said, stirring a little more sugar into my oatmeal—I needed it this morning.

“That’s just wishful thinking. Dwemer tales have a certain flavor to them. _The Tales_ utterly lack that.”

“It could be the result of a confluence of cultures,” I pointed out. “They could even be Yokudan adaptations of preexisting Dwemer tales.”

“You’re reaching. And you know what would really help me prove my point? If we actually had the book with us.”

I rolled my eyes. “I can go get it. I was probably going to spend the day reading any—

“Oh my gosh!” cried Brelyna, her eyes suddenly zeroing in on my neck. “You’re wearing it!”

I stopped mid-sentence, my mouth still half-open, and looked down at my chest… where the little wooden star pendant lay. In truth, I had simply never taken it off last night, and as I’d skipped bathing this morning, I hadn’t even noticed it before pulling on a fresh tunic.

“Oh,” I said. “…Yes. I am.”

She frowned, her hand going to her own chest. “I’m not wearing mine! Oh, I feel like such an awful friend!”

I smiled; I just couldn’t help it with her. “You’re not an awful friend.”

“You’re really not,” agreed Eleanor.

“I’m just glad you two aren’t going on about books anymore,” Onmund mumbled into the table.

Eleanor sighed and looked at Nirya. “Can’t you _do_ something about him?”

Nirya just shrugged and continued eating.

“I know, I know,” said Brelyna. “Ohh, you’re going to both laugh at me, but I think I’m going to go get it. My star, I mean.”

“I won’t laugh at you,” I said, biting my lip around my smile.

“I might,” said Eleanor. “Oh, if you’re going back to the tower, why don’t you grab Casien’s new book?”

“It’s on the night stand,” I said. At least I thought that’s where I’d put it last night.

“So,” said Eleanor, once Brelyna left, “How does it feel to be twenty?”

“Pretty much the same as nineteen,” I said.

“It’s so nice not being the only adult anymore,” said Nirya.

Eleanor and I both gave her an incredulous look before we both picked up a piece of food and tossed it playfully at her. That naturally elicited loud protestations on her part, mostly on account of the bit of jam she now had stuck in her hair. I had the idea to use a transfiguration spell, but all I managed to do was make the jam more watery, which evidently was not an optimal result.

“It’s not the end of the world,” said Eleanor, who’d moved over to her side of the table to try and help her get it out. “You can just go and wash it out.”

“Yes, but now I have to go _all_ the way back to the tower,” she complained.

“Maybe you could take Onmund with you,” muttered Eleanor, for he had started to snore.

I gave his head a dubious look. “Can’t we just leave him here?”

I had a feeling if anyone had to help carry him back, it would be me. Being friends with mostly girls—two mer and a Breton, I should point out—had its drawbacks.

Eleanor snorted. “I suppose it wouldn’t—Brelyna! What’s wrong?”

I looked over my shoulder, just in time to see Brelyna walking slowly towards us. Her face was pale, and her eyes were so wide she looked as if she’d seen a ghost. I noticed she was wearing her star pendant, but she didn’t have my book.

“I…” Her mouth moved silently before she closed it and looked at me.

I gave her a questioning look.

She folded her hands in front of her—something I knew she tended to do when nervous—and seemed to try again.

“I… went into your room. Oh, I honestly didn’t mean to look! I’m really sorry! But it was right there, right next to the book!”

“What was?” asked Eleanor.

A sense of cold dread came over me.

“The letter,” I said, my mouth suddenly dry.

Brelyna nodded, her eyes filling with tears. “I’m so, _so_ sorry Casien. I shouldn’t have looked at it. But I… I saw his name, and I…”

“Whose name?” asked Eleanor. “His lover??”

“Oh, now _this_ is exciting,” said Nirya.

Brelyna bit her lip.

“I shouldn’t say,” she said, slowly sinking down into the chair beside mine again. “It’s just…” She looked at me, and now the tears finally spilled over. “How can you act so calm? You poor thing!”

I swallowed; I could feel myself blanching. Why, I wondered vaguely to myself, did it have to happen like this? Of all the ways for my friends to learn the truth.

“What the hell was in that letter?” asked Eleanor. She gave me a vaguely annoyed look before coming to sit beside Brelyna, putting her arm around her friend.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself.

“I received it last night,” I said carefully. “I… He’s injured. I don’t know if…” I paused, having to swallow again. There was a sharp knot in my throat, but I was keenly aware that we were still in the middle of the dining hall, surrounded by other students.

“People would know,” said Brelyna, reaching out to grab my hand, squeezing it earnestly. “If something happened to him. He’s the king!”

“He’s the WHAT?” Onmund’s head popped up, and he stared across the table at us with bleary, wide eyes.

“Your lover is the king?” asked Nirya, her hands stilling in her hair. She blinked a few times, apparently piecing together where I’d lived before coming here. “Your lover is _Ulfric Stormcloak_?”

Eleanor just gaped at me. “That… can’t…”

I ground my teeth together. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you all sooner. I just thought—

“It isn’t any of our business!” cried Brelyna. “I shouldn’t have looked, but once I had, it was too late! It really, _really_ isn’t our business, Casien, and I’m so, _so_ sorry. But I… I _really_ think he’ll be okay; I mean, they must have healers with them. They must!”

Everyone was silent for a moment, and then I realized they were waiting for me to say something. I opened my mouth, then closed it again. I could feel my mouth starting to tremble, and I _hated_ that this was happening, _here_ , in front of _everyone_.

“I… can see why you’d want to keep it a secret,” said Eleanor, and I could hear the awkwardness in her voice.

“That’s a hell of a secret to keep,” said Onmund. Nirya actually frowned and elbowed him.

I stood up slowly, my hand gripping the back of my chair.

“I think… I need to be alone for a bit,” I said. “Sorry.”

I can only imagine what my face must have looked like as I walked across the dining hall. A few other students did a double take as I passed them, but no one was rude enough to question me. My friends didn’t follow either, for which I was grateful. I know none of them meant to hurt me. Brelyna had only been curious; she couldn’t have known how awful the contents of the letter would be. The others were just shocked. I didn’t blame them, not really.

I didn’t want to return to my room. I knew at some point Brelyna or Eleanor would come looking for me; they wouldn’t be able to resist. They were too kind. But I didn’t particularly feel like being found or comforted by well-meaning friends. I thought of the rooftop, but it was still so cold up there, even in the middle of summer. A sudden thought came to me—and I hurried to my room, quickly pulling on gloves and outdoor boots, along with my new wool scarf. I shouldered my cloak, too, just in case.

I breathed in the fresh, cool air as I eventually exited the college. I slid my gloved hand along the stone rail as I crossed the bridge, my thoughts a thousand miles away. It was strange, I convinced myself, to be so attached to someone I didn’t even fully know. We had known one another for less than a year, and that, surely, was being generous. And I was still young. I ought to have gotten over him—this man I had spent one night with, and one night only.

When I was a boy, spending my days on my knees pulling at roots from the ashy earth of my family’s farm, I never in my wildest dreams could have imagined one day being in a place like the College of Winterhold. I remembered how depressed I’d felt when my aunt had pulled me from school so that I could help more at home. I remembered crying messy, ugly tears at my mother’s funeral, feeling as if the one person who understood me was now gone. I lay awake at night, sometimes shivering under my thin blankets, wondering if this were truly all there was to life: heartache, toil, and the stuttering dullness of day-to-day living.

I pulled my cloak about my shoulders as I hiked down the mountainside. I wondered if I would ever truly be warm. Nirya was right to tease me; you would think I had been born in some jungle or desert the way I hated the cold. The native land of my people, though, was said to be a warm and humid place, so perhaps my thin skin wasn’t such an anomaly after all.

The slushy dirt and snow turned to sand and rock as I made my way towards the violent seashore. The waves were not friendly, and the sea air was harsh with salt. I sat down on a rock outcropping and stared out at the ocean for a long while. I felt, in that moment, as if I were a boy again, sitting on the shores of Solstheim and gazing out at the blank nothingness before me.

It was rather ridiculous, was it not—a mage who could summon fire as easily as I could, always huddling and shivering with cold. I snorted at the thought and cupped my gloved hands before me. The little flame appeared; its warmth, as usual, comforted me in more ways than one. Perhaps magic, after all, had been my steadiest friend, for it had always been with me—and it had protected me when I had most needed it.

So why, then, was I so afraid of it?

I stood up from the rock, my hands curling into fists. I closed my eyes, squeezing my hands harder, drawing on the warmth that was still there. My entire body began to hum with energy. I opened my eyes and brought my hands up, opening my fingers and pointing my palms towards the ocean.

The magic burst out of me, taking the form of a massive ball of fire. It cut through the air for several feet before bursting in a wild flurry of flames.

I tried again, this time strengthening my stance—falling back on my sword-training to do so—and focusing my concentration.

Not only was the explosion more vicious, more intense, but the massive ball of fire traveled even further, erupting some twenty feet from where I stood.

I tried—again, and again, and again. Each time, I felt more and more magicka drain out of me, but the fire continued to burn, brighter, hotter, until the very air around me sizzled with heat. Finally, I began to draw from the magicka all around me—wild magic. It filled me with dizzying power, licking at the inside of my skin and pulsing from the tips of my fingers. The final explosion was so intense it knocked me off my feet, and I narrowly missed dashing my head against the rock I had been sitting on earlier.

I tried to sit up, panting, but only succeeded in raising myself up onto my elbows.

“Feeling any better?”

I started, one elbow slipping beneath me, as I glanced behind me.

Professor Tolfdir stood a reasonable distance away—far enough to not be affected by my fire blast, but close enough that it was clear he’d been watching me. He smiled that affable smile of his and came forward, hands clasped behind him.

“Despite what some might say, I do believe it is a gift, this power we are born with. But, I suppose, in many ways it can be a burden as well. It can fool us into thinking we’re better, more powerful. More in control. But in many ways, to buy into that manner of thinking is to walk a very dark path.”

He stood over me now and, after a moment, smiled and offered me his hand. I took it, bracing myself before rising carefully to my feet. He helped me sit back on the rock outcropping before seating himself beside me.

I bit the inside of my lip and stared out at the sea for a long time, my gloved fingers digging into my trousers. Beside me, the professor leaned back on his palms and closed his eyes, looking for all the world as if he were welcoming the cold sea breeze like an old friend.

“…No,” I finally said, swallowing. “I don’t feel better at all.”

He opened his eyes and arched one eyebrow at me.

I looked down at my boots, now covered in dirt and sand. I bit my lip again, trying to curtail the rush of emotions—it sometimes felt as if they were always there, waiting, lurking behind the corners of my brain, ready to rise up and overwhelm me yet again.

“I wish—” I hesitated, unsure of what to say, and how to say it—and cognizant of who I was saying it to.

I squeezed my eyes shut.

“I wish I didn’t feel anything at all,” I said.

The words seemed to leave me all in one breath, leaving me tired and even more drained than before. I sighed, lowering my head into my hands for a moment. I didn’t want to be here, admitting my problems to my teacher. Where I truly wanted to be—I was ashamed and frustrated by what I most wanted.

“Ah, my boy,” said the professor. He chuckled, the sound barely audible over the sound of the crashing waves. “I fear I know a broken heart when I see one.”

Was I truly that transparent?

Evidently, I was.

“You may be surprised to learn,” he continued, “considering how easily you took to them, how difficult it is for many a beginning student to create a strong ward. Those of a more analytical turn of mind tend to focus on the size of the ward, for example. How large must it be for it to be effective? How thick or thin must I make the walls? Others worry about the amount of magicka required to keep the ward steady and strong. Still others simply lack concentration, and so their minds tend to wander, and thus the loss of focus results in a more physical weakening of their barrier.”

He paused to give me a little wink. “That, I think, may be from where your friend Onmund’s struggles stem.

“But few understand initially that a ward is actually an extension of oneself. Not of the physical self, of course. But to close off one’s mind, to fortify one’s barriers, metaphorically speaking—the discipline required to do so is quite similar to that required in the creation of a good ward. And you, my boy, are very skilled at creating wards.”

I looked up at him, the confusion on my face no doubt the cause of his little smile.

“Have you not already experienced the unfortunate results of repressing what you think and feel? And your magic responded in kind, once you finally lost control—when you were, as I believe you put it, most fearful and most threatened.”

My heart thudded in my chest. I knew what he was referring to. Even after all this time, after everything that had happened, I still often thought of what had occurred on that dark Morning Star evening. Of course, I hadn’t shared any details of what happened with him, but he was clearly clever enough to glean a kernel of the truth.

I shook my head. “What does that have to do with… any of this?”

I finished the sentence lamely, and the amused look he gave me made me cringe a little. I suppose on some level I understood what he was getting at. But knowing that I tended to hide my feelings from those around me didn’t make it any easier to share them.

“Every barrier cracks eventually, dear boy,” he said. “Every ward will fail. No mage, however powerful, however dedicated, has the strength to hold it indefinitely.”

“Feelings aren’t magicka,” I insisted stubbornly. “And besides—I’m better at controlling my magic, better than I was when—when the accident occurred. It won’t happen again, not without _me_ controlling it.”

“And what has changed since then?” he prompted gently.

I frowned. “I’m here, at the college. I’m learning and practicing and—”

I stopped suddenly, understanding at what he was trying to get across to me finally settling in the pit of my stomach. I pressed my lips together.

“…Oh,” I muttered, my fingers squeezing into my trousers again.

“‘Oh’ indeed,” he said, chuckling.

I gazed out at the gray sea again. It was no less wild than the dark waters that hungrily licked at the outer walls of the Palace of the Kings. I used to stare down at it, mingling my thoughts with its inky depths, as if I could lose myself there, even for a little while. I suppose, in some ways, I was always trying to hide myself away somehow. Avoiding the notice of those more powerful than myself, rejecting overtures of friendship—it was just safer, easier—or so I thought.

“Professor…” I forced my hands resting on my thighs to relax. “You said you knew who wrote my letter… the letter that was sent to Professor Aren, the one that recommended I come here.”

“It is common knowledge among the senior faculty,” he said. “We discuss every applicant who crosses our doors. I will admit, yours was a little unusual, but, on the other hand, it was likely that which drew our attention in the first place.” He smiled. “You may very well be the first student in recent years admitted on the recommendation of a jarl.”

I studied my boots again, then took a deep breath.

“He recommended me because… he knows about my accident. He knows what happened. And he protected me. I thought he was only being kind at the time, and he was, I just…” I closed my eyes briefly. “I just later realized that it was more than kindness. And that… I felt more than kindness towards him, too.”

I don’t know how he took the news of my relationship with Windhelm’s jarl, for I still couldn’t bring myself to look away from my boots. I swallowed, and tried to take another deep breath, but it naturally got stuck in the back of my throat. I swallowed again.

“He sent me here to protect me. Again.” I snorted at the realization, that he was _always_ trying to protect me, some way or another. And for once… I don’t know why, but I didn’t find it stifling. It was, I had to admit, proof of his love. I would surely do the same for him, were it ever even in my power to do so.

“I see,” came the professor’s soft reply.

When I looked up at him, he was smiling thoughtfully at me.

“And so this is why one of our students regularly receives letters stamped with Ulfric Stormcloak’s crest.” He laughed a little at the shocked expression that no doubt crossed my face. “Sorry, my boy, sorry! It’s quite hard to keep such a thing secret. Though, rest assured, I doubt anyone has fully made the connection.”

He smiled at me again, this time a bit more warmly.

“Well, well. In love with a king, are we? When I’d guessed at the state of your heart I confess I’d imagined something more mundane. One of your fellow students, perhaps.”

I couldn’t help rolling my eyes, probably forgetting momentarily that I was talking to one of my professors.

“I don’t have a broken heart. I’m not some character in a novel. But…” I bit the inside of my cheek. “I do worry about him. And his last letter…”

 _My mind is scattered to the winds._ His feverish words to me pricked at the edges of my nerves, and I couldn’t help thinking of Galmar’s footnote, either. It occurred to me, rather suddenly, that if the worst had truly happened—that I would soon have another letter. Surely Galmar would spare a moment amidst the grief and chaos to send a letter to the person his friend and general seemed to care so deeply for. _Ulfric’s Distraction_ , he liked to call me.

But if that letter never came… Was that why Galmar had seemed so angry in his note? Did he fear upsetting me without reason?

“His last letter?” prompted the gentle voice of my professor.

I shook my head. “I don’t know. I don’t know what to think, I just—” I groaned and briefly buried my face in my hands. “I _wish_ Brelyna hadn’t found it and read it. I mean I’m not mad at her; I just wish she hadn’t!”

“Ahh, but without our friends, where would we be? Alone in this dark world, shouldering the great burden of our thoughts—not a welcome prospect, oh no!”

I thought about that, and knew, of course, that he was right. Holding all these secrets so close to my heart had served to only weary me beyond measure. I didn’t want to seem emotional in front of my new friends, so I refused to unburden myself before them. I hid my thoughts and feelings, and suffered my darkest fears alone. In my defense, I wasn’t used to having friends, wasn’t used to the idea of sharing myself with other people. I was more than willing to lend an ear or a shoulder to any of them, but to reciprocate that need—it was just a very, very uncomfortable thought.

And then, of course, there was my darkest secret of all. As I no longer truly feared being branded a criminal, my inability to speak of the men I’d killed—which any thoughtful person, upon hearing the story, would understand to be purely accidental—had little to do with fear of public condemnation. Yet it seemed to have marked me, inexorably, to the point where being badgered by a well-meaning teacher to destroy a simple houseplant had left me in childish tears. That part of me remained buried deep inside my core, wound tight and at times feeling as if it would strangle me from the inside out.

So why couldn’t I bring myself to talk about it?

As if on cue, I heard a voice from behind us cry out, “There he is!”

I stood up and turned around, and there they all were: my friends, hurrying towards me. Nirya of all people was the one leading the way; she was walking with a little glowing glass sphere hovering before her, and the other three were sort of anxiously gathered around her. Once they started running towards me, however, the ball fell, and Nirya grabbed it and slipped it into the pocket of her robe.

“Professor Tolfdir!” cried Brelyna, stopping short when she recognized the person with me.

“Good morning, students, good morning,” said the professor, smiling affably at them all. “Come to retrieve your friend?”

“We didn’t know where he’d gone,” said Brelyna, for some reason looking a little apologetic.

“We thought you might’ve run away!” said Eleanor, glaring at me now.

I couldn’t help rolling my eyes at that.

“I’m not a child,” I said. “I just needed some time to think.”

But after my discussion with Professor Tolfdir, I couldn’t help feeling a little guilty as soon as I said the words. On the one hand, it was a little embarrassing that they genuinely thought I might have run away. But on the other hand… well, I suppose it was even more embarrassing to realize how much they really _cared_. Only it was a good kind of embarrassing instead of the bad kind, I suppose.

“Might I see that little globe, Nirya, my dear?” asked the professor, and she obliged him, pulling out the little glass ball and handing it to him.

He held it up towards the sky, letting the sunlight pierce through it. It was the same size as the weather globe she had given me, and now I supposed she must craft them herself.

“Marvelous,” he said. “And very well crafted, I must say.” He smiled, handing it back to her. “But no less than I would expect from Sergius’s star pupil.”

“What is it?” I asked.

“It’s a location spell,” she explained. “Something I’ve been working on. I just need a piece of the person I’m looking for.”

“Your hair,” said Eleanor, evidently noting the expression on my face, which I can only assume was fluctuating between ‘curious’ and ‘horrified.’ “We were able to find a few strands on your pillow.”

“I didn’t enter your room again,” said Brelyna anxiously, “We sent Onmund.”

“Oh, Brelyna…” I sighed, smiling despite myself—I now felt genuinely bad about how distressed she’d been earlier.

“Oh, and I definitely didn’t read any of your letters,” Onmund put in helpfully.

“Though we really do feel you should have told us about a _certain person_ ,” said Nirya. “It’s too interesting to keep secret.”

“And we could have helped you,” insisted Eleanor. “I mean, sometimes it does actually help to _talk_ about things, you know.”

I made a face, and beside me, the professor laughed, no doubt recalling the lecture he’d just given me on the exact same subject.

“Well, my dear boy,” he said, clapping me on the back. “Now that you have been retrieved, I think I shall continue my morning walk. Good day to you all.”

We all bid him goodbye, then I grudgingly allowed Eleanor and Brelyna to come and literally retrieve me, one looping her arm around one of mine on either side of me.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I grumbled.

“You most certainly are not,” agreed Eleanor.

A half an hour or so later found us all seated on the grass in the arboretum. There were a few other students milling about, some working on herbalist projects, others just gathering together and chatting as we were. I suppose that’s one way I could tell how much I’d changed, even these past few months: never in the past would I have opted to relax in such a public space, and to do so entirely surrounded by friends was something I was still barely used to.

“All right,” said Eleanor, who in many ways was sort of the de facto leader of our little group—I don’t even know how that really happened, considering she wasn’t even a student here. Then again, maybe that’s why. “Tell us everything. Or at least as much as you want to tell us.”

“At least tell us how you met!” said Brelyna.

“Seriously,” agreed Onmund. “Even _I’m_ curious to hear how you and the possible next High King of Skyrim ended up… uh, well, you know.”

“It’s nothing spectacular,” I said, surprised at how calm I felt as I began to tell my story, “I was a servant, in the Palace of the Kings.”

“No wonder you’re always so stuffy about making a mess,” commented Nirya.

“I’m not—fine, yes, maybe that’s why. But I really don’t think it’s too much to ask that we clean up after ourselves _a little_ bit after we eat or use the washroom or—

“Stop distracting him, Nirya,” said Eleanor. She looked at me. “Go on.”

I rolled my eyes at the four eager faces that resumed staring expectantly at me.

I sighed then, leaning back on the palms of my hands. “I saw him, once or twice, of course, but nothing more at first. I guess I… well, I mean, he was the king.” I cleared my throat. “And he was, ah…”

“Is he just amazingly handsome?” asked Brelyna, leaning eagerly forward.

Eleanor stifled a snort.

I tried not to blush. “He’s… well, yes, I suppose so.”

“Didn’t he fight in the Great War?” asked Onmund. “He must be a great deal older than us. Than you, I mean. I don’t think I could go for an older woman. I mean,” he added hastily, glancing at Nirya, “significantly older. Like, a _lot_ older.”

“Well, he’s not ‘ _a great deal_ ’ older than me; I guess fifteen years at the most. And it doesn’t really matter. I mean, you don’t notice it after a while. We just…” I struggled to find the right words, “…seem to really get on together. We like the same things, I guess.”

“Okay, you _have_ to share what sort of things you and Ulfric Stormcloak have in common,” said Eleanor.

“Wait!” exclaimed Brelyna, “He hasn’t finished telling us how they met!”

I rolled my eyes again. “I was assigned to cleaning and tending the fireplaces in several of the guest rooms. He liked to sit in one of the empty rooms sometimes. I think it helped to clear his head, or at least it was just nice to not have to talk to anyone who needed something from him. I don’t think it’s particularly easy, being a king. At least I don’t think so.

“I, um…” I paused, reaching up to rub behind my neck. “I think, after a while, he started coming there on purpose. I was kind of… I just couldn’t imagine that someone like that would really want to talk to _me_. But I guess he did.”

“And you talked about…?” prompted Eleanor.

I shrugged. “Literature. Politics, sometimes. Our pasts. Mostly we just talked about what was bothering us. It’s like… do you ever really wish you had someone to talk to, someone to share your thoughts with? Even the really low ones, the ones that make you want to not even get out of bed in the morning sometimes?”

“Oh,” said Nirya, “So that’s why you don’t talk to any of us.”

“I talk to you!” I said, scowling and feeling myself turn red. “I’m talking to you now, aren’t I?”

“Only because Brelyna finally read one of your letters and forced you to have a mental breakdown about it,” said Eleanor. My face must have fallen a little, because she added, quickly, “Don’t worry about the letters for now. Just tell us more about you and him.”

“I don’t know what else there is to talk about,” I said. “We… sort of had a falling out. It’s hard to describe. I mean, it was complicated, and I… anyway, in the end we sorted it out, and… well, he wrote the letter that got me into this school. Then we went our separate ways.”

“Hold on a minute,” said Onmund, sitting up a bit more. “The jarl of Windhelm _knew_ you were a mage? And didn’t even care?”

“He must have sent you here to protect you!” gushed Brelyna. “That’s so romantic!”

“I wouldn’t say he didn’t care,” I said, choosing to respond to Onmund for obvious reasons. “It was more like…” I bit my lip; it was hard, talking around the incident involving Rolff Stone-fist and his friends. “…I mean, he was with the Greybeards for ten years, you know. He learned a lot about the world, about magic, and how things work. So he isn’t afraid of mages the way a lot of Nords are. He knows it has its place.”

That wasn’t entirely true. As thoughtful and worldly as he seemed to be, the king still harbored some prejudices against magic and those that wielded it. I remembered how insistent he’d been about having me promise I hadn’t killed those men on purpose. Was there a part of him that feared magic’s ability to turn a man or woman to darkness, despite their pure intentions? Was it only love for me that made him put aside those fears in the end and do what was best for me?

“Well, now I sort of see why you were upset when I called him a bigot,” Onmund said, looking a little sheepish. I was surprised he’d remembered that—but then, I suppose I had overreacted a bit.

“He really isn’t,” I insisted. “And look, I’m—I’m going to make sure he listens more to people like us. Mages, and mer,” I added, looking at Brelyna and Nirya. “Beast folk, too. There are things that really have to change in Windhelm.”

“That sounds like you intend to go back,” said Eleanor, a tiny smile coming to her face.

I frowned. “Of course I intend to go back. I—”

But I paused, realizing what she was implying. I looked at Brelyna.

“…So you told them what was in the letter,” I said.

She wrung her hands anxiously together. “Sorry…”

I sighed. “It’s fine. But Brelyna, those are _personal_ letters. In the future, could you not…” I stopped, remembering some of the things he’d said in that last letter—some of the more _personal_ things, that is. I groaned suddenly, lowering my face into my hands.

“This is really embarrassing,” I said, my voice probably muffled behind my hands.

“It’s payback for being so secretive,” said Onmund, cheerfully slapping me on the back.

They didn’t pressure me for more information after that, and I think I must have satisfied their curiosity for the time being. I suppose it would be unkind to suggest that they were merely curious about the sordid details of my love life. No, they cared about me, _genuinely_ cared. Just as I sometimes found myself questioning Ulfric’s devotion to me, I couldn’t help wondering at what I’d ever done to deserve such friends.

I asked Nirya to show me her location spell again, and she readily obliged. She pulled it out of her robe pocket and held it up before her. Her eyes narrowed, and the globe began to glow. After a moment, she released it, and it bounced merrily up and down a few times before hovering there for a few seconds. Then it slowly moved towards me. It paused right in front of me, bobbing slightly in the air.

“That’s amazing,” I said, watching as Nirya leaned forward a little bit to scoop it back up.

“It requires a great deal of magicka to maintain,” she said. “In fact, I think I might go and lie down for a bit. Hunting for you was exhausting.”

“Sorry,” I said, smiling sheepishly.

_No, I didn’t see him. But Za’kir did._

_What did he look like?_

_An old Dunmer, about the same age as the Arch-Mage. He said his name was Malyn._

_I’ve never heard of anyone by that name._

_Me, neither…_

We all went still, staring at one another as we listened in on the conversation between the two apprentices walking past. A cold chill seemed to work its way up my spine.

“That was fast,” said Eleanor, keeping her voice low. “I thought you said Professor Aren said he wouldn’t arrive for a few days.”

“I guess I misheard,” I said.

“I still don’t think it’s anything to worry about,” said Nirya. “Professor Aren knows what he’s doing.”

“So does Professor Mirabelle,” said Brelyna, clearly anxious to stick up for her favorite teacher. “She wouldn’t let anything happen to the Arch-Mage or to the college!”

“I hope you’re both right,” said Eleanor.

They say that only a Greybeard can see into the future, and personally I find even that particular adage to be in doubt. It wouldn’t be fair to look back and say we weren’t properly alarmed by the arrival of someone the Arch-Mage himself was clearly reluctant to receive. It had been pure fate that I had run into Nelacar the other night and learned the story from him in the first place.

I’m sure none of us could have predicted the coming horrors that awaited us.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way, if any of you read and enjoyed my other Skyrim story, "The Tale of Calowen Bright-hair, Adventurer, Thief, Lover" (as you can see, I am a fan of ridiculous titles), a new artwork depicting Cal and Brynjolf was just posted to the first chapter. Check it out!!
> 
> And FYI, artwork of Casien and Ulfric is forthcoming, so stay tuned!! I'm so excited!!!


	20. Chapter 20

Nearly a week had passed since I’d first received news of Ulfric’s injury, and yet no new letter arrived to update me on his situation. My friends tried to encourage me to view this as a good thing. After all, if the worst had truly occurred, surely I would have been notified, by Galmar at the very least. Privately, I felt they were greatly overestimating my overall importance, but I was also trying my very hardest to remain as positive as possible—and very narrowly succeeding, I might add.

“If anything,” said Onmund over breakfast that Fredas, “this proves that healing magic is way more important than people give it credit for. Imagine if that king of yours kept a court mage; all this worrying would be for nothing.”

“He _had_ a mage,” I muttered, dispiritedly. “He just sent him away.”

“Don’t mope,” said Eleanor, patting me on the back. “It just brings everyone else down. Anyway, I still stand by the old adage: no news is god news.”

It was hard to concentrate on classes, but I tried my best to do so. I was half afraid that Professor Tolfdir would treat me differently now, but really, I was a fool to ever worry. He was as kind as ever, yet never sought to pull me aside or even give me so much as a knowing glance. It made me feel decidedly _normal_ , and unimportant, which likely would have upset some folk. Yet for me it was a blessing, and I was grateful for his forbearance, if it could even be referred to as such.

Of Malyn Varen, we heard little—only the occasional student saying they’d seen him walking with the Arch-Mage, or overheard one of the professors mentioning him to another. Our initial fears certainly seemed unfounded, and I supposed after all I’d just been a little spooked over my conversation with Nelacar the evening of my birthday celebration. There certainly didn’t appear to be any further cause for alarm, though nobody seemed to know what he was doing here.

That evening, after dinner, I checked my weather globe as usual and pulled on my cloak and gloves before heading upstairs. However, when I pushed open the outer door at the top of the stairs, I was shocked to see a figure standing in my usual spot.

He remained where he was, gazing out past the parapet, though he must have heard the door opening and closing. Before I could think to reopen it and slip back inside, however, he finally turned and looked at me.

“Ahh,” he said, smiling a little. “So you’re the one who’s been coming up here.”

He was a Dunmer, quite older than me, though I couldn’t make out the features of his face well, as he had the hood of his cloak drawn up. Something about the way he studied me made me want to hastily erect a ward between us—or possibly disappear completely.

“Cat got your tongue?” he asked, his smile spreading. He came a little closer, and I took a step back, on instinct.

He laughed. “No need to be so timid. Though I suppose I must applaud your instincts. So…” He paused, glancing around us, though there was nothing but stone and wind and darkness as far as either of us could see. “What brings you up here every night? I can feel your presence seeping into the very stones beneath our feet. Such raw emotion, too.”

I swallowed. It was a very personal question, and I didn’t know how to answer it.

“I… don’t wish to say,” I finally managed. My hand rested behind me on the door handle, my gloved fingers squeezing.

He shrugged, looking as though the matter no longer really interested him.

“I suppose in the grand scheme of things it matters not. But I can be forgiven for being curious about… such a powerful little thing.”

That got my hackles up a bit. I had long grown tired of people roundly dismissing me on account of my looks or my reticence.

“You’re allowed to be curious,” I said in return, “And I suppose you’re allowed to be rude, too. But I don’t know if that makes you worthy of forgiveness.”

He raised an eyebrow at me. “The little cat has a tongue after all, I see.”

I swallowed. Whereas before he had studied me with only vague curiosity, he now seemed to look at me with something more along the lines of… annoyance.

“Excuse me,” I said, turning quickly and twisting the door handle. “I have to go.”

I half-expected him to waylay me, whether through physical or magical means, but he didn’t. My heart pounded as I hurried downstairs. I knew very well who that must have been. And my instincts alone told me Nelacar had been very, very right to warn the Arch-Mage.

“Are you all right?” asked Brelyna, who was sitting in the common area with a book. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost!”

I came up to her and took her hand, clearly surprising her. I wasn’t really given to physical touch of any kind.

“I saw him,” I whispered, squeezing her hand. “Do you know where the others are?”

Her eyes widened. “Eleanor’s in her room. She said she was tired and wanted to turn in early. Nirya and Onmund… um…” She glanced towards Nirya’s room, her cheeks reddening slightly.

Oh. I could feel my own face warming, too.

I cleared my throat. “Well, we’ll just have to tell them later.”

I pulled her towards Eleanor’s room, pausing to knock and wait for her to bid us to enter before doing so. I pulled Brelyna in before shutting the door behind us.

Eleanor was sitting on her bed, cross-legged, brushing out her damp hair. She looked from Brelyna to me, then lay down her brush with a serious look.

“Tell me,” she said.

We came and sat down next to her, Brelyna on the bed, me pulling up a chair.

“I saw him,” I said. “Malyn Varen.”

“Oh!” said Brelyna, her hand coming up to cover her mouth in surprise. “When you said you’d seen him, I thought you meant… well, I thought you meant Ulfric.”

“Ulfric!” I said, blinking at her in shock. “How on earth could I have seen _him_? He’s a thousand miles away! Possibly dying,” I added with a mutter.

“Don’t start _that_ again,” said Eleanor, but I knew her chastising was really just an attempt to keep my spirits up.

“Well, I thought you might’ve seen his… his ghost,” said Brelyna, absently twisting her hands together.

“Sweet Azura,” I said, my eyes widening at the horrific thought.

Eleanor rolled her eyes. “Good job, Brelyna. Can we just get back to Malyn?” she asked, looking at me.

I shook the disturbing thought from my brain—and returned to one that was only slightly less disturbing.

“He was upstairs on the roof,” I explained. “I don’t know how he got there or what he was doing.”

“The rooftop can be accessed by several doors scattered throughout the college,” said Eleanor. “I think there’s even one at the top of the library. There should be one above the Arch-Mage’s quarters, too. I don’t know that every building and tower is connected though. I don’t think anyone really regularly goes out there.”

“Well, other than you,” put in Brelyna.

“Now you know why I was so shocked when I ran into him,” I said.

“What was he like?” asked Eleanor. “Did he see you? Did you get to talk to him?”

I shuddered, thinking of the brief encounter.

“Yes, he saw me, and yes, we spoke. He was… I don’t know. It’s hard to say. But there’s just something about him that’s not right.” I shook my head. “He said he could _feel_ my presence up there. He knew that I’d been going up there almost every night.”

Brelyna nodded slowly. “That’s possible… for a very powerful mage. Magicka is connected to emotions, after all, especially… well, especially wild magicka,” she said, looking apologetically at me.

I frowned, wrapping my arms around myself without really thinking. “He gave me the creeps. He wanted to know why I was always up there, but obviously I didn’t tell him. I think I upset him a little. But he was awfully rude to me, so… I don’t know.”

“It’s probably nothing,” said Eleanor, but I could tell from her voice that she didn’t _really_ believe that. “Look, he’s been here almost a week now. Nothing’s really happened so far. Whatever it is he’s doing, I’m sure Professor Aren and Professor Mirabelle know about it.”

“I sure hope so,” I said.

“Oh!” said Brelyna, starting a little. “I just remembered. Someone came by to deliver you a note. Not a letter!” she said quickly, clearly noticing my sudden alarm. “Only a note from town. A runner brought it. Here…”

She fished through the inner pockets of her robe until she pulled the little note out and handed it to me. I unfolded it and read it, a little smile curling onto my face as I did.

_Hello Sir Elf!_

_Hanna and I are in town for a bit. Staying at the local inn. Come and see us tomorrow, if you’re not too busy being all mage-y!_

_Ysme Wind-Runner_

“What is it?” asked Brelyna anxiously.

“Don’t be nosy,” hissed Eleanor, but she looked just as curious.  
  
I snorted at them both, then folded up the little note. “It’s just a couple of my friends. They’re in town, and asked if I might visit.”

Brelyna’s eyes lit up. “Friends! I didn’t know you had friends besides us!”

“Oh, Ysmir…” said Eleanor, laughing and half-covering her face.

Brelyna blinked. “I suppose that didn’t come out very well…”

I couldn’t help laughing, too. “It’s fine. I guess before I met you all I wouldn’t have even thought to call them ‘friends,’ but I guess that’s what they are.” I smiled, thinking of the pair of scouts. “They saved my life, after all.”

“Can we meet them?” asked Eleanor.

“I don’t see why not. Goodness…” I paused, realizing something. “It sure will be strange, being around so many people who… well, like me.”

Brelyna and Eleanor exchanged a look before both started laughing.

“Poor Casien,” said Eleanor, her eyes twinkling mischievously. “You really are the saddest little thing sometimes.”

“Oh, I just have to hug you!” said Brelyna, coming forward to do just that, while I just sat there and blinked at their amusement.

The follow morning, I sent a note down to the Frozen Hearth letting Hanna and Ysme know that I and a few of my friends would be joining them for dinner. I was more than a little anxious to see them, and not just because I had genuinely missed them. I felt certain they would have some news about the war, though if they’d known anything particular as it pertained to the king, I knew Ysme would have said something—and certainly, the tone of her note wouldn’t have been so friendly if the worst had occurred.

We didn’t see Nirya and Onmund until lunch that Loredas, and thus they were naturally the subjects of much teasing from the three of us. I felt it only fair, considering how often I’d been needled to speak about my own love life.

“Good enough to satisfy me,” said Nirya calmly, after I’d teasingly asked her how Onmund had performed for her last night.

“Can you please stop?” moaned Onmund, his entire face beet red.

“We’ve been picking his brain for details about his own relationship for months,” pointed out Eleanor. “Let him have this.”

“But I was always nice about it!” Onmund exclaimed, turning to me. “I tried to stop the girls from always getting on you about it!”

I shrugged, stuffing a piece of muffin into my mouth. “’Forry.”

Really, it wasn’t my fault Nirya appeared to have absolutely no shame, and Eleanor and Brelyna had remained stubbornly single since we’d first met. It just felt so… _freeing_ … to be on the other end of the teasing for once.

“Oh!” said Brelyna suddenly, “I almost forgot! I’ve been working on a new spell, and I wanted to try it out, now that we’re all together.”

“That sounds a little foreboding,” said Eleanor, who’d seen Brelyna’s attempts to transfigure various items around the school, to varying degrees of success. Oh, she was good at it, certainly better than me, Nirya, or Onmund, but there was also that time she’d turned a book Eleanor had been reading into a pie, panicked because she couldn’t turn it back, then made the mistake of running off to get help. When she’d returned, the book was… well, in several different people’s bellies, apparently.

Evidently, Eleanor had borrowed the book from Professor Urag himself, so _that_ hadn’t ended very well.

“Don’t worry!” Brelyna assured us all, “It’s nothing to do with transfiguration!”

“Thank the Nine,” breathed Onmund.

“I just need us all to hold hands,” she continued, reaching out for mine and Nirya’s. I took it with a slightly amused expression, arching an eyebrow as I offered my hand to Eleanor, who smiled and rolled her eyes.

“What kind of spell is it?” asked Nirya.

“It’s a barrier,” she explained. “It’s supposed to only work if everyone in the group is connected in some way. I’ve been studying to figure out how to create a barrier that will cover multiple people. If this works, I’m going to show Professor Tolfdir!”

I couldn’t help laughing. “Leave it to you to come up with a spell based on the power of friendship.”

“But I’m not a mage,” said Eleanor, frowning.

“It doesn’t matter!” said Brelyna, “As long as there’s at least one mage in the circle. And well, since there are four, I really think it should work. Okay, everyone. Close your eyes, take a deep breath, and picture a barrier forming around us all!”

I did as instructed, a little dubious at first, but soon I could actually feel it working. This didn’t exactly fit with what I’d learned about wards and barriers—that the ward or barrier reflected the steadfast determination, concentration, and personality of the magic-user. But I was amazed when I felt the familiar warm cocoon envelop me, and I felt a sudden strange (though not uncomfortable) closeness with my four friends. I opened my eyes, and met four pairs of astonished gazes.

“This is amazing!” said Eleanor.

She was right. It was more than a proper barrier, though in that sense it appeared to be functioning. While we remained bright and very present, everything outside the barrier had faded to shades of grey, and even the sounds from the dining hall had dimmed to low murmurs. I noticed a few students looking at us, but practicing magic outside the classroom was hardly unusual, and most seemed disinterested in whatever it was we were doing.

But beyond the usual effects, there was something else, too. I could literally _feel_ the presence of the other four. It wasn’t as if I could literally hear their thoughts or pinpoint exactly what they were thinking, but…

Nirya and Onmund were staring at one another, Onmund blushing pink and with widened eyes, and Nirya looking slightly surprised as well.

Onmund appeared to swallow. “Oh wow… I’d hoped you felt the same way, I just didn’t know…”

“Well, now you do,” said Nirya simply.

“Aww,” said Eleanor, grinning.

“Oh…”

I looked at Brelyna, little surprised to find her staring at me.

“Sorry,” she said, wincing a little. “It’s just… you’re still so sad. I had no idea…”

Eleanor blinked, looking at me as well. “Wow, you really are.”

They were all four looking at me with anxious, pitying faces, and I couldn’t help sighing. Really, this was getting rather old.

“How long do we have to keep this up?” I asked grumpily.

“I just want to see how long we can hold it,” said Brelyna. “I can feel the integrity loosening a little already. I wonder if—”

And then something truly bizarre happened to stop the words right in her mouth.

Every single person in the hall, aside from us, suddenly disappeared.

“Mephala’s ass!” I swore, drawing back in shock. “Brelyna, what--?!”

“I don’t know!” she said, looking just as scared and shocked as I felt.

“Let’s let go,” said Eleanor. “Maybe it’s the spell.”

So we did. We released one another’s hands, and the barrier immediately fell; a strange, cold sensation came over me, and I realized it was a result of suddenly having access to nobody’s feelings except my own. Yet the hall remained disturbingly silent. Everyone—and there had been nearly 50 or 60 people in the room—was gone.

“What in oblivion is going on?” My voice echoed in the immense hall, bouncing eerily off the walls.

“I don’t like this,” said Onmund, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning a bit closer to Nirya. “This is wrong.”

“It… was a spell,” said Brelyna after a moment, her eyes widening with alarm. “Can’t you feel it?” She looked at all of us. “It’s still lingering in the air!”

“I don’t feel anything,” said Eleanor, her hands squeezing into fists, probably unconsciously.

“I do,” I said. “Whatever it was, it used a _lot_ of magicka.”

“Translocation spell,” said Nirya.

“No way,” said Onmund, looking at her as if she were insane. “That’s impossible. Not for this many people. And why didn’t it affect us?”

“Because we were behind Brelyna’s barrier,” said Eleanor. “Even I can figure that part out.”

But Onmund still shook his head. “There’s just no way. You would have to be an _extremely_ powerful mage. In fact, I don’t think it’s even _possible_ to be that powerful.”

“There _are_ ways for mages to siphon off power,” Eleanor pointed out, and I suppose there was something to be said for spending your life in a library and being in love with books. “Dark magic. Which they naturally don’t teach here.”

“You mean like necromancy?” I asked, remembering what Brelyna had told me that first day. “Who would—?”

But I didn’t really even need to continue. We all looked at each other.

“Malyn Varen,” I said, grinding the name between my teeth.

“If… If Malyn really did this,” said Brelyna, twisting her hands together. “Shouldn’t we… I mean, shouldn’t we maybe…”

“Get away from here as fast as we can?” asked Onmund. “Yes. Agreed.”

“But what about everyone else?” I asked. “We can’t just let him get away with this! We have to find them!”

“Casien,” said Eleanor, even reaching out to clasp her hand around my arm, as if to steady me, “Four apprentices and an assistant librarian aren’t going to be much of a challenge for a mage like Malyn Varen. We need to find help. _That’s_ the best way to help the professors and everyone else.”

“We could find that guy you spoke to last week,” said Onmund. “Nelacar. Maybe he could help us!”

Those were both good points. Much as I hated the thought of running away, it was surely true that the five of us were no match for someone capable of casting a spell of this magnitude. And though I hadn’t gotten the best first impression of Nelacar, he was surely a decent enough man and would do what he could once he learned what had happened. He and Professor Aren hadn’t seemed to like one another, but that didn’t mean he necessarily wished harm upon the other man, let alone the entire faculty, staff, and students.

I nodded, grudgingly. They were right.

“All right,” said Eleanor, “I know where we can escape. There’s an entrance to the Middens not far from here. We should probably try to be as quiet as possible, just in case—well, you know.”

“The Middens!” said Onmund, “People say it’s full of ghosts and other awful things! Is that really a good idea?”

“We can hardly march out through the front door,” said Nirya. “Not if that sociopath is still actually here.”

Eleanor nodded. “Exactly. Come on, it’s our best option, given everything we know and don’t know. Everyone stay close, and _stay quiet_ , too.”

We tried to be as quiet as possible as we made our way through and out of the silent, empty dining hall. Eleanor led us past the main hall, where we hugged the wall before slipping down a darkly-lit hallway. There was as yet no sign of Malyn, but we had just passed into an even darker, lesser used hallway, when…

I paused, reaching out to gently grasp Eleanor’s shoulder. Behind me, Brelyna grabbed my hand; I looked at her, and she nodded, her eyes wide. Behind her was Nirya, who nodded as well.

“What?” whispered Eleanor, Onmund crowding close as well.

I leaned close to whisper into her ear, Nirya doing the same for Onmund: “Footsteps.”

Eleanor jerked back, alarm written all over her face. She looked around frantically, her hair swishing back and forth, hands balling into fists again. By now, I’m sure both she and Onmund could hear the footsteps as well, heavy, booted ones, along with the accompanying jangle of armor and weaponry—which was somehow more reassuring, seeing as how that couldn’t possibly be our rogue mage.

It was almost too late—we were going to have to fight—when I looked to my left and was astonished to find that Nirya and Onmund had disappeared.

I blinked. Then realized: illusion magic.

Of course.

I looked at Brelyna, who nodded and waved a trembling hand in the air before stepping and pressing herself as close against the wall as possible. The air shimmered briefly around her before she then seemed to disappear.

I looked at Eleanor, who shook her head at me. I took a deep breath, then pulled her close, wrapping my arms around her and keeping her as tightly pressed against me as possible before stepping back alongside Brelyna. I waved my hand, the air shimmered…

The guard came into view. Only he wasn’t one of the college guards, of course; his armor was heavier, and he moved cautiously, one hand hovering over his sword hilt. I stifled my sigh of relief when he didn’t appear to see us. He paused only once, his eyes narrowing slightly, as if he sensed something. He was so close, I could smell the sweat on his skin and the oil from his leathers. Then he seemed to shake himself and kept walking.

We only let out the breaths we’d been holding once he’d disappeared behind the corner of the hallway intersection. My friends rematerialized, and I released Eleanor, who only looked at me, taking a moment to grab my hand and squeeze it in thanks before turning and continuing to lead us deeper into the building.

“Why are there guards here?” hissed Onmund, once we were out of earshot.

“They must be working for Malyn,” I said, keeping my hand on Eleanor’s shoulder now, as it had gotten quite dark. Brelyna had her hand on my arm, and I suspect the other two were similarly leading and being led.

“Assuming that’s who’s behind all this,” said Nirya from somewhere behind me.

“It has to be him,” said Eleanor over her shoulder. “I didn’t want to worry you guys, but Professor Urag told me all about what happened to him almost 30 years ago and why he was kicked out of the college. Professor Urag was one of the few who voted against allowing him back. He felt certain he had something awful hidden up his sleeve, and that coming to speak to the Arch-Mage was just a rouse.”

She finally led us into a side room, one where mysteriously glowing mushrooms attached themselves to the walls and thus to some degree lit our way. However, when we came to the grated door that supposedly led down into the Middens, we were stopped short in our tracks by a shimmering blue translucent wall.

“Wards,” said Eleanor, sighing.

“He must have sealed the whole place in!” said Onmund. “Now we’ll never get out.”

“Don’t touch it!” cried Brelyna, when I moved cautiously closer to get a better look. “It may trigger some sort of alarm!”

“So how do we get past it?” I asked, turning around to face the others.

Nirya shook her head slightly. “We don’t. The only way to break a ward like that is to kill or incapacitate the mage casting it.”

They fell to arguing then, trying to decide how best to escape. Brelyna and Eleanor advocated for going to the library and finding some way to bypass the warding spell. Nirya wanted to try and send a message out. Onmund thought it was safer to just find some place to hide until help eventually and inevitably arrived.

But the truth of what we were going to have to do was staring us in the face, and none of the others wanted to acknowledge it. I didn’t blame them. I was just as terrified. But the others—everyone who had suddenly disappeared to gods knew where—they now had only _us_ to rely on. We owed it to them to do what we could to save them.

“We have to kill him,” I said.

My voice cut through their soft bickering, all four faces of my friends turning to stare at me in astonishment.

“Are you out if your mind?” Eleanor finally hissed.

I shook my head. “There’s no other way. We have to break this warding spell and try to find the others as fast as possible. We have no idea where they even are.”

“Oh,” said Nirya, “I could probably help with that.”

Of course—the location spell!

I took a deep breath. “Okay. So we’re really doing this?”

“I guess we don’t really have a choice,” said Brelyna, biting her lip.

I nodded. “Anyone who doesn’t want in—I understand. I know we’re just apprentices, and Eleanor doesn’t have any magic at all. _But_ she’s smarter than any of the rest of us. So, I don’t know about you, but if _I_ were Malyn, I might actually be a bit scared right now.”

Eleanor snorted. “Thanks—and fine, I’m in.”

I held out my hand, and after a moment, she put hers on top of mine, the pair of us exchanging a grim smile. Brelyna quickly put her own hand on top of ours, then Nirya, then, finally, a very reluctant-looking Onmund.

“If I die I’m going to be really mad at you all,” he said.

“We’re not going to die,” I said, looking each of my friends in the eye. “We’re going to find this guy and we’re going to beat him. Then we’re going to find our professors, and all the people who do nice things for us around here, like make our dinners and stuff, and all the other students, too. Even the ones who sometimes laugh at me in class because I get really nervous in front of other people.”

They all laughed, which I guess was sort of what I was going for. We then got down to the business of huddling together and trying to come up with a plan—a plan to kill what seemed to be one of the most powerful and dangerous mages in all of Skyrim.

And really, what could possibly go wrong with _that_?


	21. Chapter 21

“The first thing we have to do is find and incapacitate all of the guards,” said Nirya.

I couldn’t help but admire the cool steadiness of her voice, how her expression remained utterly calm. I think the others were equally amazed. I suppose it was good there was at least one of us who still seemed in firm control over their emotions.

“How are we going to do that?” asked Brelyna.

“And once we do that we’ll have to drag them out of sight,” said Eleanor. “We don’t want Malyn to stumble over one of them and realize he’s not alone.”

“Sleep spell,” said Onmund suddenly, and he looked even more surprised than we did that he’d actually suggested something. He cleared his throat. “I’ve been taking advanced lessons with Professor Marence. It’s… something you can do to ease a patient who’s in pain. You just sort of put them to sleep for a bit.”

Nirya blinked. “You never told me about that.”

“What, the sleep spell?”

“That you’d been taking extra lessons.”

“Oh, well, I…”

“You two can bicker once this is all over,” said Eleanor. “Okay, so that’s the guards. What about Malyn.”

“I have some ideas about that,” I said slowly. “But you guys aren’t going to like it.”

“…Well?” prompted Eleanor, when I didn’t immediately explain.

I looked at them all, my teeth worrying my bottom lip a bit. They were definitely _not_ going to like this. I wasn’t sure _I_ even liked it. But it was the only thing I could really come up with, and, in all honesty—it was the only logical choice.

I took a deep breath.

“All right, so… you know what Professor Faralda says about me and wild magic? And how it’s really powerful, and that it’s linked somehow to my emotions? Only if I give in to it too much it can be really, really dangerous, which is why she’s been trying to get me to focus on my own magicka.”

“You haven’t blown anything up in class in a long time!” said Brelyna. “You’re getting a lot better!”

I shook my head. “That’s not what I’m—I mean, thanks, but what I’m saying is, I can—” My breath got stuck in my throat. Did I really want to admit this? The one thing I’d been hiding about myself all this time?

Was _not_ admitting it really worth the lives of my professors, my fellow students, and everyone else who lived and worked here?”

I took another deep breath.

“I can kill a man with it,” I said. “Almost instantly.”

They all four stared at me with mouths slightly agape, eyes wide open. Eleanor was the first to recover. She cleared her throat and breathed in a little bit, clearly trying to steady herself.

“So you’re saying you’ve… in the past?”

“Yes,” I said, my throat closing up around the word.

I blinked and tried to swallow. “It wasn’t my fault. I was—I was being attacked, and I couldn’t—

“Casien,” she said, briefly seizing my arm. Her brown eyes met mine. “It’s all right. It’s in the past. But if you’re saying you want to do that to Malyn…”

“Impossible,” said Nirya, and I thought I could actually detect a trace of unsteadiness in her voice. “He’s too powerful. You may be as well, but he’s stronger. After all, look at what he’s already done. You’d be in danger.”

“But he’s _already_ exerted a great deal of magicka,” said Brelyna, her eyes widening. “ _And_ he’s maintaining a ward around the _entire_ college!”

“That would exhaust any mage,” agreed Onmund. “No matter how powerful.”

“Any normal mage,” said Nirya. “This one probably isn’t normal.”

“You’re right,” agreed Eleanor. “That’s what Professor Urag told me. He was exiled from the college for dabbling in necromancy.”

“And that’s how he must have managed to power the translocation spell,” continued Nirya. “He may have had to kill hundreds of people, but it’s possible. And there’s no telling how much power he still has.”

“We have to take that chance,” I insisted.

“Maybe we do, maybe we don’t,” said Eleanor. “In the meantime, we should find and take out as many guards as we can find. And if along the way we come up with a plan that _doesn’t_ place you in mortal danger, then even better.”

Everyone was in agreement. We steeled ourselves before linking hands again and making our way as silently as possible out of the Middens entrance room and back down the dark hallway. Once we were back in the more commonly populated part of the building, it simply became a matter of searching and waiting for another one of the guards to appear.

There must not have been very many. It took us a good twenty minutes, though we were moving very carefully and quietly, of course. Once we finally spotted one—the man wasn’t even patrolling; he was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest, a bored look on his rough face—I turned to Onmund.

“You can do this,” I whispered, squeezing his shoulder. He nodded and swallowed once before creeping forward.

He seemed to disappear before he got too close, and I knew he’d pulled the illusion spell over himself, as we had before. I exchanged a look with the others, biting my lip. If the sleep spell failed… well, Onmund, Nirya, Brelyna, and I may have been apprentices, but we were four mages against one man with a sword. But an all-out fight would no doubt draw the attention of any other guards, not to mention the man who’d brought them here in the first place. And Onmund and the guard were so far away, and none of us was particularly good at aiming spells from such a distance. Suppose we were to accidentally hit our friend…

I needn’t have worried. The guard seemed to start suddenly, then blink in shock—then the next second, he slipped backwards against the wall. Onmund reappeared, his arms awkwardly grabbing and holding the larger man, presumably so he wouldn’t make too much noise. I hurried forward, grabbing the man’s other arm; together, we gently lowered him to the floor.

The other three hurried forward.

“Quickly,” hissed Eleanor. “We’ve got to hide him!”

So, with Brelyna serving as look-out, we each grabbed a leg or arm and hefted the unconscious man up. Eleanor and Nirya were struggling, so we couldn’t carry him very far. We stashed him in the nearest closet we could find, next to some brooms and a pile of dirty laundry. 

“This is a little exhausting,” said Onmund, wiping his brow as he straightened.

I frowned at him. “He wasn’t that heavy.” Onmund was quite larger and stronger than me, after all.

He shook his head. “No, the spell. It’s hard to keep up. I don’t know how I’ll be able to do this… well, however many more times I need to.”

“You’re concentrating too hard,” said Nirya. “The way you always do. Relax.”

“How can I relax?!” he asked. “I just put a sleep spell on a guard! An _armed guard_! And any minute now I could slip up and lose it and he could wake up and kill us all!”

“Nirya’s right,” said Eleanor, glancing nervously at the guard, who smacked his lips in his spell-induced sleep. “You should probably try to calm down.”

“What was that poultice Professor Marence was telling us about in class a few weeks ago?” asked Brelyna, a suddenly excited look in her eyes. “It was for helping people relax. But she said it could help them sleep, too!”

“…And _too_ much could actually _put_ them to sleep,” I said, remembering. We shared a look.

“What were the ingredients?” asked Eleanor.

“I can’t remember!” said Brelyna.

“Me either,” I said.

Nirya shook her head.

“…Blisterwort,” said Onmund softly. “Two parts blisterwort, one part deathbell. A drop of sap from a dragon’s tongue.”

“Deathbell!” Eleanor sucked in a breath. “That stuffs dangerous. Too much and—

“And, what?” I cut in. “We kill him? The alternative is, Onmund loses his concentration, and this guard and his friends kill _us_.” I looked at them all. “I say we break into Professor Marence’s office and make up as many poultices as we can.”

“It’s not a poultice,” said Onmund. “It’s a draught. You ingest it.”

“The professors’ offices are in the main part of the building,” said Eleanor. “And so is the healing ward. It’s probably more heavily guarded.”

“And I don’t think I can spell _that_ many guards asleep and _keep_ them asleep,” Onmund said miserably.

“The restoration classroom!” said Brelyna. “It’s fully stocked!

We all looked at each other. I nodded.

“The restoration classroom. Let’s go.”

We encountered yet another guard along the way. Onmund was sweating by the time we finished stowing him away, this time in the corner of an empty washroom. Fortunately, the apprentice classroom wing wasn’t far, and we made it there in less than five minutes.

Once there, we separated. This time, I kept watch at the door while the other four searched for ingredients. We mer had better hearing and vision than Eleanor or Onmund, and the other two agreed that I was probably the best equipped to handle the situation should something occur. Frankly, they weren’t wrong—I couldn’t help thinking of the massive series of fireballs I’d shot into the ocean only a week ago, though it remained to be seen whether I’d have the mental fortitude to do that to an actual person. But I bit the inside of my cheek and nodded, not wanting to let on how nervous the thought made me.

Fortunately, my natural talent for blowing people up wasn’t yet needed. Eleanor found the blisterwort, Brelyna the deathbell, and Nirya the dragon’s tongue. Onmund then got to work preparing the draught, which had to be dissolved in water, apparently, forming a sort of tea. Not the sort of thing you’d want to drink after a stressful day, I assumed.

“You have to prepare it just right,” he said, wiping his brow absently.

“Or it kills the guy, we know,” said Eleanor, a bit more briskly than usual—she was obviously as nervous as the rest of us. “We already went over that.”

He shook his head. “Not just that. It could have the opposite effect and not work at all. The blisterwort neutralizes the effects of the deathbell, and the dragon’s tongue neutralizes the blisterwort. It’s a delicate balance.”

“Have you ever made up this potion before?” asked Brelyna, twisting her hands anxiously.

“No,” he muttered.

Once he was finished, we distributed the contents into five different metal canisters, which we slipped into the inside pockets of our robes. Then we made our way carefully back to where we’d stashed the guard in the washroom. Luckily, the man was still there.

“How do we do this?” asked Eleanor. “If we try to force it down his mouth, he’ll choke. And not that I care about choking him, but that might make him wake up.”

“We just have to hold his head up,” said Onmund, crouching beside the man. “I only need to pour a little bit in, so he should swallow eventually.”

I crouched down beside him, and together we carefully lifted the man up from the floor. I had to wrinkle my nose as we rested his back against our laps—he didn’t smell particularly good. Eleanor knelt to help us, tilting his head back just so and opening his mouth while Onmund allowed a few drops of the medicinal draught to fall in.

We waited. Onmund, Eleanor, and I exchanged a tense look. After a minute or so, Onmund took a deep breath and said, “I’ll remove the sleep spell now.”

He waved his free hand over the man’s forehead, and… nothing happened.

“Thank the stars,” breathed Nirya, and beside her, Brelyna briefly clutched her arm, both of them breathing a sigh of relief.

“What I want to know is,” said Eleanor, rising to her feet as Onmund and I lay the guard back down, “where is Malyn? If he’s the architect of all this, shouldn’t we have at least seen or heard him?”

“The college is so huge though!” said Brelyna. “He could be anywhere!”

Eleanor shook her head. “He had to have come here for a reason.”

“Well,” I put in, “Where would they keep the most important stuff?”

“The Arch-Mage’s quarters,” said Eleanor without hesitating. “Or the tower that houses it. There are several additional rooms that only high-ranking faculty can enter. That’s where they store magical artifacts, and keep the more dangerous ones safely locked away and out of harm.”

I nodded. “Then that’s probably where he is.”

“Hopefully taking his time extracting whatever dangerous artifact he’s after,” said Nirya. “He’ll be a little hard to kill if he escapes.”

“But if he escapes, then we don’t have to kill him,” said Onmund. “We’ll be able to leave, too, and then we can start searching for the others.”

True enough, and it was the most ideal outcome in my mind, but we couldn’t count on being that lucky. I swallowed, not looking forward to the part I was insisting on playing in all of this.

“I… hate to point this out,” said Brelyna. “But what if… what if the others aren’t alive? What if he killed them?”

“We’ll know when I cast the location spell,” said Nirya. “All I need is a piece of hair from someone. Once we’ve dealt with Malyn, it shouldn’t be a problem.”

It all sounded a little too optimistic in my opinion, but it was my plan, after all, so I couldn’t very well complain about it.

“We should take his sword,” said Eleanor, just as we were about to leave and find the other guard we’d put to sleep. “Just in case.”

“In case…?” I frowned at her.

“In case it doesn’t work,” she said, and I could tell she was steeling her features. “If that happens, we should have another way to defeat him.”

Oh. So if my efforts failed, literally stabbing the man to death might be the only option. The unfortunate aside being, of course, that if I failed I was likely dead.

It wasn’t a very comforting thought.

I offered to carry the sword since I was used to—or _had_ been used to—carrying one regularly. Of course, I didn’t have my sword belt, and it wouldn’t have fit anyway, as it was far longer than my short sword, and thus very unwieldy. I was a little surprised by how light it was; I had always imagined the larger blades would be heavy, but obviously I was wrong. 

We found the first guard we’d incapacitated and administered the draught, then, as quickly but quietly as we could, proceeded to do the same for at least seven more. The main hall was tricky; there were two patrolling the area, so when Onmund placed the sleep spell on the first, the other came running over.

“Show yourself!” she cried, brandishing her war axe and looking around in every direction, for Onmund had gone invisible again, and we were still hiding. She swore under her breath: “Bloody mages…”

I shared a look with Eleanor. This wasn’t good. Any second she would no doubt sound the alarm, and that meant Malyn would know he and his guards weren’t actually alone.

Then the guard suddenly went limp, the axe dropping from her hand as she plummeted to the ground.

“I can’t do anymore,” said Onmund, panting as he reappeared. “It’s too hard!”

“You don’t have to,” I said, wincing because the sound of the axe hitting the stone floor echoed throughout the entire hall. “I think those were the last two.”

“Thank the Nine,” he said, leaning against the wall and sinking down to his heels. Nirya went to make sure he was all right while Eleanor, Brelyna and I did our best to administer the draught and drag both guards out of sight. We were all panting for breath once we’d finished, so before we proceeded with the next stage of the plan, I suggested we all rest for a moment.

“Are you still sure about this?” Eleanor asked, looking at me.

I nodded.

“Think about it: We can’t defeat him any other way. So we have to hit him with something he won’t be expecting. And if he _does_ expect it…” I picked up the sword, holding it out to her.

“No way,” she said, blanching. “I can’t. I’ve never held a sword in my life. I wouldn’t even know _how_ to wield it.”

I realized, then, that there was really only one person who could do what needed to be done, should the worst occur.

“Onmund,” I said, “You’re a Nord. You’re the only one here besides me who’s been trained to carry a weapon. I know you’re tired, but—

He shook his head. “It’s fine. You’re right.” He took the sword from me, a rueful little smile coming to his face. “Besides, can’t let the girls outshine us, can we?”

He smiled at me, and I smiled back.

“If you two keep staring into each other’s eyes like that I’m going to get jealous,” said Nirya calmly.

While Onmund blushed and stammered out an apology, I closed my eyes and tried not to think about what was about to happen. These could very well be the last few minutes of my life. Was I ready? Not really having a choice in the matter somehow seemed to make the whole thing easier. Not that I wasn’t terrified, but it gave me the resolve to go ahead and do what needed to be done. And… if Galmar were wrong, or if I had read the tone of his note wrong, and if the king now lay dead, his body wrapped and awaiting burial—they would not burn the king, they just wouldn’t—then, would it really matter? What happened to me?

I swallowed, overwhelmed though perhaps a little ashamed of my dark thoughts. The king wouldn’t want me to throw myself into some sort of suicide mission. But what the king wanted or didn’t want didn’t really matter right now. He wasn’t here.

I looked at my hands in my lap. My fingers were shaking. I curled them into fists.

I started when Brelyna gently placed her hand over one of mine. Our eyes met.

“It’s okay to be scared,” she said.

“I know,” I said, finding it hard to get the words out. “And it’s good that I am. Fear makes the magic come out.”

“Are we ready?” asked Eleanor, standing.

“Where are _you_ going?” I asked.

She straightened her shoulders. “Someone needs to be bait. It might as well be me.”

“No!” cried Brelyna, standing up as well. “If he attacks you won’t be able to defend yourself.” She marched over towards her and took her hand firmly in one of hers. “We’ll _both_ go.”

“How will you do it?” I asked.

“We’ll pretend we’re frightened and confused about what happened,” she replied, thinking. “We’ll knock and let ourselves in, then call out for the Arch-Mage. If Malyn is there, and he sees us…”

“We run like hell,” said Eleanor.

“And lead him back down here,” I finished.

“You two should stay in hiding,” I added, looking at Nirya and Onmund. “So long as you stay out of sight he won’t realize you’re here. He’ll be focused on me.”

They looked at each other then nodded.

“And you get behind me and put a ward up,” I said to Brelyna. “Keep Eleanor close to you. But try to stay as far from me as possible. Keep me between you and Malyn.”

Once everyone agreed, it was time to begin. I stood up, doing my best to hide the fact that my knees felt like jelly. I made my way to the center of the hall, not far from the door that led to the Arch-Mage’s tower and chambers. Nirya and Onmund stayed where they were, Onmund’s hands gripping the sword. They would disappear behind the illusion spell only when necessary, and I had a feeling Nirya would try to disguise them both, as Onmund’s magicka was nearly drained. Brelyna hugged me, Eleanor gazing grimly at me over her shoulder, before the two then disappeared through the doorway leading to the Arch-Mage’s tower.

All was silent. I tried to take a deep breath but failed.

 _How does the song go…_?

The king’s voice echoed unbidden in my head, his blue eyes gazing warmly down at me. I could almost feel the cold air whipping in my face, hear the stamping of our horses’ hoofs. I curled my shaking fingers into fists again and tried to breathe in deeply once more. This time I was successful.

“I carry your heart with me,” I sang, my soft, unsteady voice echoing eerily against the stone walls. “Wherever you go… I go. Here is the secret… nobody knows… I carry your heart with me… wherever you go, I…”

I started violently, the familiar sound of strong magic bouncing off a ward coming from the tower. Within seconds, Brelyna and Eleanor burst through, Brelyna looking over her shoulder, holding up a small ward as they ran. Eleanor pulled her past me, and from there I lost sight of them—because finally, he appeared.

“Ah,” said Malyn Varen, coming to a stop as he exited the doorway. “It’s you.”

I blinked and said nothing, only hoped that the rapid beating of my heart and the slight tremble now wracking my whole body weren’t visible.

“Set a trap for old Malyn, did you?” He chuckled, walking closer, though I noticed he did so cautiously, one foot carefully placed in front of the other, one hand slightly outstretched, as though ready to flick a spell at me at any second.

“You reek of magicka as if you were a dremora,” he murmured, moving ever closer. “Do you know that, boy? I’m sure you do. And I’m sure you thought it would be enough to defeat me. That’s why you sent your little friends up there to fetch me.”

He paused as though considering something, his eyes narrowing.

The fireball seemed to come from nowhere, erupting from thin air before hurtling towards me. I brought my hand up, forming the ward as quickly as possible, and staggering back as the fireball slammed into it.

He chuckled.

“Hmm. Impressive. You have good reflexes, I’ll give you that. Do you know…” He circled a little to the left, and I forced my legs to move, for I had to keep myself between him and the others. “If Savos hadn’t gotten his claws into you, I might have taken you on as my own apprentice. You _are_ a powerful little thing, aren’t you. Such a _waste_ , really.”

He flicked his hand again; this time spikes of raw ice shot themselves towards me, moving almost faster than my eye could catch. Again, I brought my ward up, but this time, though it held, the ward seemed to crackle—and crack.

“Oh, dear.” Malyn laughed again, the sound almost merry. “This isn’t going to last very long, is it? How your abilities have been neglected. Why, if you were mine, you would have tried to kill me by now. And probably would have succeeded.”

He tossed another round of ice spikes at me, but then quickly followed it up with another fireball. I staggered back again; my ward shattered. Behind me, I heard Brelyna scream.

“What now, I wonder?” He moved a little closer. “You can’t protect yourself from me. But you aren’t running. You’ve got something else planned, haven’t you? You certainly are a bold little thing. One might even say downright _full_ of yourself.”

I closed my eyes. It was no longer possible to hide the trembling in my hands, let alone my entire body. I bit the inside of my cheek.

“What’s this? Frightened, are you? Run out of ideas? Don’t worry, little one. I’ll kill you quickly. Which is more than I can say for your professors and fellow students. But I suppose Savos owes me that much.”

I opened my eyes again, raw anger seething through me now.

“You killed them,” I said, blinking, my vision blurring. I thought of Professor Faralda smiling proudly down at me, even as I tried not to cry from her forthright methods of training. I thought of Professor Tolfdir sitting beside me, teasing me for my stubbornness. I thought of Professor Enthir, eccentric and personable, Professor Marence, distant yet kind. I thought of my fellow students, the Argonian who’d clapped me on the back last week after my latest demonstration in destruction class, the Altmer who’d loaned me a book on Alinor folktales when he’d overheard Eleanor and I talking about them. None of them deserved to die. Not even the ones who teased me or laughed at me. They didn’t deserve to _die_.

Deep inside me, I felt my magicka pulse in response.

 “Oh, not yet,” said Malyn. “Though I suspect it won’t be long now. I wonder which will fall first? They say the beast folk can go much longer without food and water. But something tells me that Orsimer librarian will be one of the last to give in. The old ones, though—poor Tolfdir, for instance. He’ll not last long.”

I shot a fireball out at him on reflex, baring my teeth. He flicked it easily away with a ward.

“I see I touched a nerve,” he said, smiling. “Fond of him, are you? I suppose he took you under his wing. He always did have a liking for lost causes.”

He paused, something in his eyes darkening.

“Well, boy. I’m afraid he can’t save you now. You’re going to die. Along with both your friends.”

The air between us seemed to sizzle.

I’m not sure who struck first. Perhaps, on retrospect, it has to have been him, for I’m not sure anger is ever enough for me. Fear overwhelmed me in that split second, fear that I was going to die, and that all I hoped and cared for had come to nothing. My dreams of learning and exploration were to be snuffed out so abruptly and unceremoniously. My friends whom I’d come to care about would stand no chance once I fell. The person I loved, if he himself yet lived, would return home—and go on living without me. I knew in that instant that my death would truly break his heart.

Malyn was right. I was going to die.

And I was afraid.

Whatever spell he’d shot at me was instantly countered by the electric sparks that shot out of me in that single split second. I could feel my hair standing on end, and I cried out, pointing my open palms towards him, instinctively doing my best to direct the magic towards him and away from my friends. The electricity ensphered him, overwhelming him, until he curled in on himself, screaming from pain.

I don’t know how long it lasted. It may have only been a few seconds; it may have gone on for nearly a minute. But as the fear left me, as I saw him crumbling and knew I wasn’t yet dead, the wild magicka deserted me. I stumbled back, panting and shaking, the sparks dissipating.

Malyn moaned, on his hands and knees now, his whole body shuddering.

And from behind him emerged from the shadows a young Nord, his borrowed sword held at the ready, screaming as he thrust the sword into the older Dunmer’s back.

Malyn jerked, his eyes blinking wide. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.

“He’s… he’s not dying!” cried Onmund, stepping back in shock. “What do we do?”

“I don’t know,” I said. My hands were shaking again; I could still feel the raw wild magicka licking about me, but I couldn’t seem to move.

Suddenly, Nirya appeared beside Onmund. She grabbed the sword, bracing her foot against the enemy mage’s back, and pulled it free. Then she stabbed it down again, and again, and again. Finally, Malyn lay on the ground, bleeding and still.

Nirya released the sword, panting, and took a step back. There was blood all over the toes of her boots now.

Onmund stared at her, his mouth hanging agape.

“I love you,” he finally said.

She looked at him. “I know.”

“By the NINE!” cried Eleanor, she and Brelyna racing up from behind. “We did it! We actually did it!”

“You were so brave!” said Brelyna, throwing her arms around me and hugging me tightly. I hugged her back—I needed it.

“We need to return to the Arch-Mage’s quarters,” said Nirya. “I don’t like what Malyn said about him and the others. I need to cast the location spell as soon as possible.”

“All right,” I said, taking a shaky breath. “Let’s go.”

“Do we just leave him here?” asked Brelyna, wrinkling her nose at the crumpled body between us all.

“Who cares about him,” I muttered. “Let’s just go save our professors.”

 

* * *

 

Beautiful fan art of Casien zapping lightning at Malyn by the oh so talented v0od0okat !!![ZZZAAPP](https://v0od0okat.tumblr.com/post/177588219019/decided-to-draw-some-fan-art-for-the-latest)!!!


	22. Chapter 22

The Arch-Mage’s quarters were a mess. The doorway was strewn with smashed crystals, and the air was pungent with… something. It was as if someone had emptied a whole shelf of the smelliest potions ever created. Furniture had been overturned; an eerily lit garden that dominated the center of the room had probably once been quite impressive. Its contents now lay brown, drooping, and dead.

“This was just _petty_ ,” said Eleanor, going over to the plants and sadly touching one dried up leaf.

“He had a grudge,” I said, remembering the way Professor Aren had talked about him to Nelacar. The three of them clearly had some sort of history together, and it wasn’t pleasant. Even Savos and Nelacar seemed to dislike one another intensely.

There was a trunk in one corner, the lid open, and inside it were all manner of magical artifacts, most of which I had never even seen before. There was a mirror, half wrapped in cloth, that didn’t reflect anything but our shadows; a chalice that sang when we drew closer to it; a glowing white orb about the size of my fist that seemed to float half an inch above the ground. There were several books, too, with mysterious titles I’d never heard of, likely all related to forbidden forms of magic. Everything seemed to have been carelessly flung inside.

“He was planning on making off like a bandit,” said Onmund, frowning at the contents.

“Don’t touch anything,” said Eleanor, drawing him back. “We don’t know what any of these items can do.”

“Let’s just find the Arch-Mage’s bedroom,” I said.

When we did, we combed the pillows and sheets, then a pile of clothes nearby, looking for a strand of hair, but couldn’t find anything. I confess I felt a little creepy, rummaging through his personal things, but it couldn’t be helped. Eleanor gave a triumphant yelp from the direction of the washroom and emerged with a little wooden bristled hairbrush.

“The globes are in my room,” said Nirya, “Bring the whole brush. We can make more than one.”

“We should probably hurry,” said Brelyna, twisting her hands nervously. “What if some of the guards start to wake up?”

“They should sleep for a few more hours,” said Onmund, “but I agree. The faster we’re out of here, the better.”

It was eerie, hurrying down the stairs and through the familiar hallways without another soul in sight. Of course, that had been as much the case when we were busy tracking down the guards, but I suppose I’d been too nervous and, frankly, terrified to really notice. Now our footsteps and voices echoed loudly against the stone floors and walls, and in an odd way, it made me despair over the monumental task before us: how were _we_ going to rescue the _entire school_?

In the apprentice tower, Nirya returned to her room to create the location globes; the rest of us retreated into our own rooms to gather as much as we could. If we were lucky, the spell would work and would lead us to the others. That meant we would be traveling, and gods only knew for how long and where to. I stuffed my pack with extra clothing and a few necessities, but some of the things we would need—bedrolls, pots for cooking, canteens for holding water, for instance—none of us likely owned, and when I had first traveled those items had been seen to by my guides.

I thought of them—Ysme and Hanna—and how I was supposed to introduce them to my friends tonight over dinner. How blissfully ignorant and innocent I’d been only 24 hours ago when Brelyna had first handed me their note.

I hesitated over whether to bring the king’s cloak. It was warm, and the shifting, unpredictable weather of Winterhold meant it could still drop near or even blow freezing at times, especially at night. But the cloak was too large for me, and I didn’t yet know how and where we would be traveling, so I opted to wear my own cloak. I did use the golden bear clasp, though, my hand pressing over it as it rested on my chest for a moment. I obviously hadn’t forgotten about my concerns for the king and his injury, but after hearing nothing more for a week I’d settled in my heart to believe that he yet lived. And now, I needed a reminder of his strength and fortitude to get me through this… this whatever it was we were about to embark upon.

Lastly, I strapped on my short sword and dagger. Yes, I was a trained mage now, albeit an apprentice, and by sheer luck I’d killed a man a thousand times more powerful than myself. But I wasn’t a fool; circumstances could always arise wherein magic wouldn’t necessarily be an option, and besides—I hadn’t allowed myself to be thwacked and knocked about by Galmar for two months for nothing.

Once finished packing, I went to Nirya’s room, the last of our friends to do so.

“Wow,” said Onmund, blinking at the weapons around my waist. “I guess I shouldn’t ask how you came by such a fine pair of blades.”

“Probably not,” I said, smiling wanly.

“Same place you got this?” asked Eleanor, reaching over to gently tap the golden bear clasp. I arched an eyebrow, and she lowered her hand with a soft, good-natured snort.

“I’m ready,” said Nirya.

We all turned to face her, and she stood up, holding one of the little globes in her hand. There were several more lying on her bed as well. She held up the one in her hand and, after focusing on it for a moment, released it. It bobbed in the air, just as the other one had. I watched as she narrowed her eyes and lowered her chin a bit. The globe wobbled… then slowly began to move.

Nirya grabbed it before it could go too far, slipping it into her pocket.

“All right,” she said. “I made one for everyone, just in case something should happen.”

She handed us each a globe, and we all slipped them into our inner robe pockets.

“I guess now we head outside and see which direction these things tell us to go,” said Onmund. He didn’t sound too excited by the prospect, and I didn’t blame him.

“Wait!” said Brelyna. “What about Nelacar! Shouldn’t we try to find him first? Maybe he can help us!”

“I don’t know,” said Eleanor. She looked at me. “Didn’t you say he and Malyn were once friends? What if he’s in on this?”

“If he were, wouldn’t he be here? He’s a skilled mage, Eleanor. I really think Brelyna’s right; we should at least try to find him.”

“All right,” she agreed. “But we shouldn’t waste too much time. Remember what Malyn said about the others… _suffering_.” I’m pretty sure we all shuddered at the memory. “We need to _find_ them, as soon as possible.”

“We should find my friends,” I added, as we began to head out. “The ones we were going to meet tonight for dinner. They’re Stormcloak soldiers. They might be able to help us, too.”

I had no idea if they would; it wouldn’t be for lack of care, but Ysme and Hanna might be in the middle of a mission, and thus unable to go wandering off with a group of apprentices on some probably hopeless adventure.

In characteristic Winterhold fashion, the wind had picked up and the temperature had dropped rather dramatically as we exited the college, as if the weather knew we were about to embark on a potentially perilous journey. We shouldered our packs and made our way across the bridge and down into town. I glanced at the setting sun; it was a little early for dinner, but maybe if we were lucky, Hanna and Ysme would be down already.

Hanna wasn’t—but Ysme was. When we entered the inn, I spotted her half-standing from her table, waving her hand eagerly at me. I exchanged a grim look with my friends and led the way.

“Look at you!” she cried, getting up as I neared and resting her hands on my shoulders, as if to size me up. “You’re even more the little elf prince than you were before! Think you’ve gotten a bit fatter, too; mage-y life must agree with you.”

“Ysme…” I paused, unsure how to even begin.

“And who is this? Ysmir’s beard, did you actually make friends?!”

“I’m Eleanor,” said Eleanor, stepping forward and offering her hand to the slightly taller woman with unusual gusto.

Ysme laughed, though I’m not sure what she found so amusing.

“Nice to meet you, Eleanor,” she said, shaking the hand in her own and winking.

“And this is Brelyna, Nirya, and Onmund,” I said, nodding at each of my friends,

“A pleasure to meet you all!” said Ysme.

“Ysme,” I said, trying again. “Something terrible’s happened. Where’s Hanna?”

Immediately, her expression sobered, and she peered at me with concern.

“She’s out,” she said. “But she’ll be back soon. What do you mean, something’s happened? Here, come and sit down, all of you! Barkeep!” She banged her empty tankard against the wooden table. “Another round for my friends, will you?”

Once we were all seated, and looking slightly guilty as the innkeeper arrived and plopped a tankard before us all, the man (it was the husband this time) looking none too pleased at being shouted at across the room as if he were a common servant—I turned to Ysme and did my best to summarize what had happened.

I watched throughout as her expression went from alarm to concern then absolute shock—this last occurring as I recounted my fight with Malyn Varen.

“And now we’ve the means of finding the others,” I said, for I’d just explained how Nirya’s location spell operated. “But we don’t know where they _are_ exactly, and we don’t know how long it will take to get to them. Honestly, they could be halfway across the world for all we know.”

“And Malyn indicated that they were suffering horribly,” said Eleanor, her brows knit with concern. “We have to find them as soon as possible.”

“Only we don’t know anything about, er, adventuring,” said Onmund. “We don’t even have the supplies for it. We were wondering if…”

“…If maybe you would help us?” squeaked Brelyna, who was, I think, a little intimidated to be speaking face to face with an actual soldier.

“Of course I’ll help,” said Ysme, “and Hanna, too. But first…” She turned to me, her face suddenly turning flinty. “What were you THINKING?! You could have been KILLED!! Going up against a mage so powerful like that!! It’s the most ridiculous, hare-brained scheme I’ve ever heard, and I once had to rescue _your_ would-be heroic butt from a _blizzard_! So help me, Sir Elf, if you _ever_ do something so stupid again, I’ll—!”

“I didn’t really have a choice!” I cut in.

“Mara’s tits, you didn’t! Ohh, if you think I’m steamed, wait till Hanna hears about this! She’s going to tear you a new one!”

Half an hour or so later, her prediction proved apt, as I had to sit through a second lecture. I think even my friends were nearly wilting by the end of it, though Eleanor in particular seemed a little flushed. I snorted softly. Mara’s tits indeed. The goddess certainly worked in mysterious ways.

“Well,” said Ysme, draining her second (since we’d sat down) tankard of beer once Hanna had finished ranting at us, “That’s enough of that. So,” she plunked the empty tankard down, “When do we leave?”

“We’ll not travel through the night,” said Hanna. “The terrain is too treacherous. We’ll leave first thing tomorrow.”

I cleared my throat, a little nervous to speak after the dressing down I’d just suffered through. “So… you’re both free to come with us?”

“We were on our way back to Windhelm,” said Hanna. “The war’s over, or nearly will be soon. We’ve been granted some time off, though how long that’s to be, I haven’t a clue.”

“So the jarl’s alive?” I asked, nearly choking on the words. My heart felt as if it were going to pound its way right through my chest. Under the table, I felt Brelyna’s hand cover mine and squeeze.

Ysme blinked at me. “Why wouldn’t he be? I’ve not heard anything to the contrary.”

“He was injured,” I said. “Something about a battle. Between Markath and Solitude, but I can’t really be sure. Galmar wrote that he had a fever. I… haven’t heard from either of them since.”

Hanna and Ysme exchanged a puzzled look.

“We’d heard about the battle,” said Hanna. “A lot of losses on both sides, but the Stormcloaks prevailed. It was the end of the Imperial army, far as I knew, so the march to Solitude was an open road. I imagine the fight within the city itself was brutal, but—

“Sorry, Sir Elf,” said Ysme, shaking her head, “We didn’t hear a word about him being injured. I suppose it’s not the sort of thing they’d like bandying about.”

“But if something happened, we’d know by now, surely!” said Brelyna.

“I couldn’t say for sure,” said Hanna. “We received our orders just outside Fort Snowhawk.”

“That’s just west of Morthal,” supplied Ysme.

“We were told about the battle, and that our side won the day, but little else,” continued Hanna. “So we were sent home. We were to dispatch with any stragglers should we encounter them.”

“And did you?” asked Eleanor.

“A few,” replied Hanna, though she didn’t elaborate. I was used to soldiers not wanting to share the grisly details of war with folk like us though, so I wasn’t surprised. Eleanor looked a little disappointed, and I think likely misinterpreted Hanna’s coldness.

“What about Nelacar,” said Nirya. “We need to find him.”

“So the pretty one speaks after all,” chuckled Hanna. Onmund glowered, Eleanor blushed, but Nirya’s expression remained characteristically unchanged.

“Who’s Nelacar?” asked Ysme, not-so-subtly elbowing her friend.

“He’s a master mage,” I said. “He lives in town. We’re hoping he can help us.”

“Hm. Sounds like you’d be best off asking the owners, especially if he’s a regular.” She turned to face the direction of the bar. “Oi, Bar—!”

“Wait!” I said, cutting her off and standing quickly. “I’ll go and ask them myself.”

“I’ll go with you!” said Brelyna, bless her, popping up beside me. Together we approached the bar, both of us standing there like the nervous little fools we were until one of the innkeepers noticed us.

“Can I get you two anything?” asked the man a bit gruffly.

“Ease off,” said his wife, coming over and slapping him with a rag. “These are students, Dagur.”

“Aye, but they keep rough company,” he said, frowning in disapproval.

“Shush, you. What can we do for you, lovies?”

“Nelacar,” I said. “We’re looking for Nelacar.”

“We need him!” said Brelyna. “It’s for—um, college business.”

The innkeeper frowned. “Nelacar, eh? He’s a shady one, all right. Always pays his bill though. Well, he’s usually in here around this time, but not every night, I’ll grant you. He’s a house not far down the road. Take a left just before the jarl’s longhouse and you’ll see it soon enough. Tiny little place, pretty blue door though. Avis’ handiwork, I think it was.”

We thanked her and returned to the others. It was determined that Hanna and Ysme would remain here and try to secure more horses and supplies in preparation for the journey. After meeting with Nelacar, and hopefully gaining his assistance, we would all meet back here.

The walk to Nelacar’s place of residence was an oddly foreboding one. The sun had finally fallen behind the mountains, and the wind had picked up again, howling around us as we hiked past the jarl’s longhouse. The streets were less populous on the outskirts of the city, and the late hour saw to it that most folk remained snug in their homes for the night. It was strange, too, to glance over my shoulder and up at the looming presence of the college, knowing as I did that it stood empty—save a few unconscious thugs—for perhaps the first time in centuries.

When we arrived, the others looked at me until I sighed and steadied myself before walking up to the pretty blue door and knocking. I heard muffled footsteps on the other side, and it didn’t take long before the door was opened.

“Yes?” asked the house’s owner, his brows knitted together in apparent confusion. I supposed he didn’t often receive visitors.

“Ah!” he said, before I could respond, “Savos’s star pupil, of course! And friends!” He smiled at the others. “What can I do for you? Oh, come in, come in, please. We’ll let all the warmth out, standing about jabbering like this. I do apologize for the small space,” he continued, as we filed awkwardly in. “I don’t normally entertain so many.”

“I wish we were here to be entertained,” I said, pushing the hood of my cloak back around my shoulders. “But we’re not.”

“Oh dear,” he said, frowning at the no doubt serious expression on my face.

“Are you or are you not in league with Malyn Varen?” asked Eleanor, suddenly stepping forward and glaring at him something fierce. Which I admit I found equal parts brave and ridiculous, as she was the only one among us who had no magic and no combat training.

Nelacar blinked.

“In _league_ with Malyn? What on earth is this about?”

“Eleanor!” I hissed, and she crossed her arms grumpily over her chest.

“Well, we don’t know if he is!” she hissed back. “Do we?”

“The fact that he hasn’t tried to kill us yet is proof enough for me,” said Onmund.

“Haven’t tried…” Nelacar looked at all of us as if we were speaking a different language. “What are you apprentices on about? It’s hardly polite, you know, to enter a man’s home and half-accuse him of conspiracy to murder!”

“Sorry,” I said. “We don’t mean to do that, honest. It’s just… it’s been a long day. I think maybe you’d better sit down before I tell you everything.”

In the end, he insisted we all sit (some of us having to settle on the floor) around the little fire while he prepared mugs of tea for us all. I recounted the events of the day as best I could, and unlike Ysme, his expression remained for the most part fairly even, though I could tell he was disturbed by what he heard. He did give me a queer look as I described defeating Malyn, his eyes narrowing slightly and his hand coming up to rub his chin as he finally sat down among us.

“So, Malyn has finally gotten his revenge, only to have his life snuffed out by a child.” He huffed out a little laugh. “I always told him his ambition would one day outpace his common sense.”

“ _That’s_ all you have to say about this?” snapped Eleanor.

“A _child_?” I sputtered, which I admit was probably the least offensive thing the man had said, but still.

He had fallen into a reverie and seemed to start at our outbursts. Then he chuckled, waving a hand at me in particular.

“My apologies, young man. When you get to be my age, young people like yourselves with your pretty faces and manners are as children to us. I mean no offense by it. And as for you, young lady,” he added, arching an eyebrow at Eleanor, “Yes, that is what I have to say about it. That and a great deal more, though I imagine none of it concerns you. Malyn was my old friend, you know, though now I rejoice to hear of his death, much as you may hesitate to believe it. He was a proud and ambitious fool who always felt his talents were little appreciated by those he most admired. It’s a sad end for a bitter, heartless man who was once such a promising young mage, and I am allowed to feel pity for the situation, if not for the person himself.

“Now, as regards the college and your own current situation—I’m afraid I ought to remain here. Believe me, I care about the others; indeed, many are still my close friends. But the college is totally vulnerable right now, and it requires protection. There are a great many extremely dangerous artifacts located within its vaults, and I’m afraid I am the only one capable of providing them even the most minimal protection.”

“So you won’t help us,” I said, deflating a little.

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t help you,” he said, giving me a sharp look. “For one, I insist that you all sleep here for the night. Make use of my pantry and bring as much with you as you can. As for your journey, I have much I can offer you.”

Here he did not exaggerate as he was apparently a master enchanter. He offered us each an amulet to ward off the cold, the enchantment so strong that they would last for several weeks if necessary. There was a hunter’s ring charmed to mask the scent of a mer or human; I supposed we’d give that to Ysme or Hanna. He gave us canteens spelled to keep water from freezing, stakes to place into the ground around camp that would shriek if anyone crossed over the line drawn in the dirt or snow; he even offered us gold to purchase any supplies we might need—in short, I was half worried we would not be able to carry it all, so much did he offer us, and I suppose that alone was proof that he did really care.

“Don’t forget the guards,” I said, as he threw on his cloak and gathered some supplies. “Onmund said they should sleep for a few more hours, but you never know.”

“Thank you for the warning,” he said. “But I should be quite all right against a few foul-smelling men and women with pointy objects.”

“What I can’t figure out is how they got into the school in the first place,” said Eleanor.

“They couldn’t have gone through Malyn’s wards,” agreed Brelyna.

“Ah,” said Nelacar. “That, I believe, I can answer. I suspect they were part of the translocation spell. In effect, they switched places with those in the college. It is most astonishing that Malyn was able to position them so precisely, though I suppose if one or two ended up in the middle of a wall, we’d none of us be any the wiser.”

We all exchanged a look, shuddering at the thought.

He paused in the doorway, looking at all of us. Perhaps there was something in our expressions that made him do so, for his own face relaxed a little, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“And you say that he is dead?” he asked. “You’re certain of this?”

I nodded.

“We killed him,” I said, glancing at Onmund and Nirya. “He’s definitely dead.”

“Then the hard part is done. You have nothing more to fear. I should add, too, that the others cannot be more than a week’s journey away. No matter how many victims Malyn sacrificed to attain such power, no simple translocation spell will work beyond such a distance. Now, sleep well tonight, and I wish you good fortune on your journey tomorrow.”

We were all exhausted, though I was the least so among us, barring Eleanor. Onmund was already half-asleep. Brelyna and Nirya chose to stay with him while Eleanor and I left to return to the inn and retrieve Hanna and Ysme. The two scouts had secured only one more horse, but with Nelacar’s gold, we were able to hire two more. We tried to convince Hanna and Ysme to stay at the inn for the night, for at least they would have a comfortable bed to sleep in there, but they insisted on returning with us.

An hour or so later, those of us who were still awake—namely myself, Eleanor, Hanna, and Ysme—were sitting around Nelacar’s fireplace, sipping hot tea with a bit of whiskey in it, courtesy of Nelacar’s liquor stash, and trying not to think about the journey ahead.

“What I want to know,” said Eleanor, “Is how did you know you’d be able to defeat Malyn? You seemed so certain that it would work.”

“I’ll wager he didn’t,” said Ysme, glaring at me. “Putting your life on the line just to play the hero again!”

“I wasn’t trying to play the hero,” I said, scowling. As much as I was happily overwhelmed at having people who genuinely cared about me, I still found their overprotection at times stifling.

“There were rumors in Windhelm,” said Hanna quietly, “of an elf who murdered four men in cold blood this past Morning Star.” Her eyes met mine. “They say he was a Dunmer, and that he used magic—lightning magic.”

“Oh, aye,” agreed Ysme, “I’ve heard that one. And they say he’s still at large, too!” Her eyes widened. “But you can’t think—!!”

I swallowed. They were all three looking at me in dawning horror.

“I didn’t murder anyone,” I said. I could feel that dark space behind my chest growing, tightening its grip around my heart. But I swallowed again, burying it. I took a deep breath.

“They attacked me.” I swallowed the unwelcome tremor in my voice and looked down at the mug in my hands. “They were going to—

I heard movement to my right and looked up. Eleanor moved closer to me, reaching out to rest one hand over both of mine over my mug.

“But they didn’t,” she said. “You stopped them, didn’t you? With magic.”

I nodded, blinking back the tears that had gathered in my eyes, though of course all that did was cause them to spill over onto my cheeks.

“That’s what you meant when you said you’d done that before. Used wild magic to kill someone who was attacking you.”

I nodded again. “It was the first time it had ever happened. If the magic hadn’t saved me—I don’t know. I think they would have killed me. They would have—

I don’t know why I could never say the words. It was obvious what some of them had wanted to do. They did it to Dunmer women all the time. I suppose it makes sense they’d do it to a man. It obviously didn’t have anything to do with sex. It was about putting us in our place, showing us that we were little more than dogs to them.

“One of them hit me,” I said, reaching up without thinking to touch my right cheek. “The king protected me. I stayed in his rooms until the bruise faded.”

“So that’s how it happened!” said Ysme, blinking in surprise. “Well that’s like something form a storybook.”

I shook my head. “No, it’s… it started long before that. We used to meet, in a spare guest room. We would just… talk. Only he told me in one of his letters that he was in love with me all that time, and I didn’t realize it.” I rubbed my eyes, tired all of a sudden. “I guess I was in love with him, too. We were both really stupid for a while, but then we made up, right before we both had to go.”

“That’s wonderful,” said Eleanor. “It’s good that you parted on good terms. You’ll see him again, Casien, I’m sure you will.”

I sniffed, rubbing my nose, then couldn’t help laughing. “Gods. How do you all put up with me? I’m such a pitiful, useless…

Hanna snorted softly. “Listen to him. Tells us he’s defeated his enemies in battle twice, then says he’s useless in the next breath. Whatever are we to do with him?”

“Make him finish his tea and tuck him into bed, I should think,” said Ysme with a little smile.

“You two tease him too much,” said Eleanor, but she was smiling.

“That’s what big sisters are for!” said Ysme, grinning.

Her advice was good, though, and we decided to all put it to use. Within minutes, we had banked the fire and bedded down for the night. The bedroll Hanna and Ysme had purchased was rough and not nearly comfortable enough, so used to the plush mattress in my room was I at this point. But I was too exhausted to keep my eyes open for much longer. My last thoughts were of Nelacar, sleeping alone in the dark, silent, empty college, volunteering to serve as its sole protector for gods knew how long. I hoped he would be all right.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone!!
> 
> Check out the AWESOME ARTWORK of Casien and Ulfric on the first page!! I'm soooo pleased with how it came out; it's like the artist was inside my head! 
> 
> Aren't they both so lovely? <3

I was, as usual, the first to awake, at least among the other apprentices. I was little surprised to find Hanna and Ysme already gone. They had likely gone down to the inn to retrieve the horses. It was hard not to be too grateful and relieved that they would be traveling with us. Despite Nelacar’s reassurances that our professors and fellow students couldn’t be more than a week’s journey away, traveling through the frozen wilderness on our own would have been a daunting task.

I made myself some tea, though I really would have preferred coffee. Nelacar didn’t appear to favor it though, so tea it was. I tried to be as quiet as possible; we had a potentially arduous journey ahead, with an uncertain end, so I wished the others might get one last good sleep in before we left. Eleanor must have been already half-awake, though, for she soon stirred and joined me before the dying fire.

“Will you tell the others?” she asked, as we both sat quietly sipping our tea.

“Tell them what?” I asked, though I was pretty sure I knew.

“What you told us last night. About the first time you used wild magic.” She hesitated before adding, “I don’t think you’ll feel better until you do.”

So my burden was that obvious.

I shook my head, looking back down at my mug. “I don’t know.” I looked up again, our eyes meeting. “You tell them.”

After a moment, she nodded. I suppose it was cowardly of me. But I didn’t think I could bear to tell my story a second time.

It wasn’t long before the others began to awaken, and soon Hanna and Ysme had returned as well. We packed as swiftly as we could, all of us donning the amulets Nelacar had left us. We now had five horses between the seven of us, though one of those would have to serve as a packhorse.

“We’ll have to double up,” said Hanna. “How many of you can ride?”

I could, of course, or rather, I was mostly capable of staying on my horse without falling off. Onmund, who’d grown up on a farm, also said that he knew how, but none of the others could. So Nirya would ride behind Onmund, Brelyna behind me, and Eleanor behind Hanna. At least one of the scouts should remained unburdened, so to speak, and Ysme claimed she was the better shot.

“Look,” I said, pulling Eleanor aside while the others were loading up, “I know you can’t wait to wrap your arms around Hanna for seven hours straight…”

“I deserve that,” she sighed. “Don’t I?”

I tried, and probably failed, to suppress a smile. “Maybe. But what I mean is… Eleanor, you can’t fight. You don’t have magic, either.”

She frowned. “So I’m useless?”

“No! It’s just… you’re the only one who can’t really defend herself. I’m just worried, I guess. Maybe… it wouldn’t be a totally terrible idea if you stayed here with Nelacar.”

I will admit that a bit of introspection later that day soon brought to light how hypocritical my concerns were. At the time I couldn’t see it; all I could see was my friend, walking into a potentially dangerous situation, unable to protect herself. Of course I was worried about her—just as the people who cared about me often were, though their care often stifled me and made me wish they might no longer see me as so utterly helpless.

Eleanor crossed her arms over her chest, a stubborn look coming to her face.

“Whatever happened to ‘she’s the smartest one out of all of us’? Suddenly I’m not so useful?”

“Of course not! I just—

“Then shut your mouth, Casien Yedlin. I’m coming with you all, and that’s an end to it.”

I did as instructed and nodded, thoroughly and rightfully cowed. After a moment, though, she sighed.

“Look. I know I’m not any smarter than you or the others. And I don’t have magic, and I’ve never really held a sword in my life. I once accidentally stepped on a chicken when I wasn’t watching where I was going and I felt totally awful.” She paused, taking a deep breath. “But these people matter to me, too. Especially Professor Urag. I _have_ to do what I can to help save him and the others. And I’d never forgive myself if I stayed here and let the rest of you ride off into danger.”

I understood. I knew exactly how she felt, and her explanation made me feel all the sorrier for asking her not to come in the first place. I nodded again and gave her shoulder a squeeze, then we joined the others.

A few minutes later, we were all mounted and ready to depart.

“All right, then, little mages,” said Ysme, reining her horse in and looking back at us all. “Where to?”

Nirya pulled the little globe out, holding onto Onmund’s shoulder with one hand while positioning the globe and narrowing her eyes in concentration. When she released it, it hovered for a moment before slowly drifting off towards the left.

She grabbed it before it could get too far and pointed. “That way.”

And so we were off. The city was just beginning to awaken as we made our way through it. The guards at the gate saluted Ysme and Hanna, who saluted back, fists to chest, as we passed. Of course, we couldn’t travel in exactly the direction the spell told us to go; we couldn’t cross through mountains and leap off sheets of ice. The very rough terrain—for there were no proper roads leading from Winterhold in this direction—made for painfully slow and difficult progress, too. So we had to pause, every half hour or so, and realign ourselves courtesy of Nirya’s spell. By lunchtime, she confessed to being a little overtaxed, and I recalled her saying the spell took a lot out of her.

“So teach us,” I said.

Brelyna nodded eagerly.

“Yes! Let us help you!”

“We could all take turns,” agreed Onmund.

Her brow furrowed, which I knew from experience meant she wasn’t happy or sure about something

“All right,” she finally agreed. “But I don’t know if I can. It’s hard to explain.”

“Don’t worry,” I said. “If we can’t get it, that’s on us. But it won’t hurt to try.”

So while Ysme, Hanna, and Eleanor sat and watched, we three did our best to listen carefully to Nirya’s instruction on how to command and control the location spell. I don’t think that any of us were surprised when Onmund proved fairly hopeless; he was never very good at enchanting. Healing was his true passion, and I think it colored his belief in his own abilities. He could create a decent ward and his second best class was illusion, but with any other branch of magic he seemed convinced of failure after even the most modest effort.

Brelyna and I persisted, and the hardest part for me was the precision. The spell required the enchanter to focus all their magicka on one tiny little globe, and to have the strength and control to command it to obey. Brelyna easily managed to get the ball in the air, but it didn’t seem to want to go anywhere. I, naturally, was the opposite; I got it moving on only the second attempt, but when I commanded it to go—well, it shot off almost faster than our eyes could follow. Seconds later, we heard a soft, distant popping sound, and little sparks fluttered briefly in the air.

I just sat there, not knowing what to say.

“Wow,” said Eleanor, breaking the silence among us all, “That was impressive.”

Hanna shook her head. “Mages.”

“Oh, and you were always a genius with a sword, were you?” I huffed.

Hanna just grinned at me.

“We’ll practice again tonight,” said Nirya. “But we only have four globes left. So Casien only gets one more try.”

“That’s fair,” I muttered.

Luckily, that night we were both more successful.

After a lot more practice, Brelyna was finally able to complete the spell and command the little globe to listen to her. After we all congratulated her on her success, it was now my turn, but I admit I was a little reluctant to try again. I didn’t want to be the reason we lost another globe.

“It’s up to you,” said Nirya. “Your connection to magicka is stronger than any of ours. There’s no reason you shouldn’t be able to do it. You just lack control.”

“Thanks, professor,” I said, and I heard a snort of amusement from the peanut gallery—namely Eleanor. I looked over at the trio of non-mages eating their dinners and watching us, and frowned.

“Hey, I have an idea,” I said. “Maybe Hanna should show Eleanor how to use a sword.”

It was hard to tell in the flickering light of the fire, but I think Eleanor probably blushed. However, my plan backfired, because Hanna tossed aside the haunch of rabbit she was chewing on and stood up, dusting her backside off before grabbing her sword belt.

“That’s a fine idea,” she said. “Come on, assistant librarian. On your feet.”

Eleanor stared up at her like she was insane. Next to her Ysme was grinning wolfishly at the pair, so there’d be no reprieve from that corner. After a moment, Eleanor rose to her feet, pausing to shoot me a glare before looking warily at Hanna.

“All right,” she said. “What do I have to do?”

So while Hanna pulled Eleanor aside and began to train her in the art of wielding a dagger—which apparently she and Ysme had plenty of, so she could easily spare one for the budding librarian-turned-warrior—Nirya and Brelyna returned to encouraging me, with Onmund occasionally jumping in.

“What about the flame?” asked Brelyna. “The one you can do with your hand? I saw you do it in Professor Tolfdir’s class on your first day.”

I blinked. Was that not something everyone could do?

“This?” I asked, turning my right hand palm up and bringing the little flame into being. All three of my fellow apprentices gasped in wonder, and I heard Ysme mutter a startled curse.

“You mean you could do that all this time?!” asked the scout. “Ysmir’s beard, could’ve saved us the trouble of having to strike flint to stone each night for the fire.”

I frowned at the other three. “Is this... weird?” I made a fist, snuffing out the little fire.

“And he puts it out so easily, too,” breathed Onmund.

“Ouch!” I heard Eleanor say from a distance.

“Sorry,” replied Hanna.

“Kiss it and make it better!” shouted Ysme.

Hanna’s response was a vulgar hand gesture.

“I don’t know if ‘weird’ is really the right word,” said Nirya. “But it shows you have excellent control, at least when it comes to destruction magic.”

“Me?!” I asked, even pointing to my own chest. “ _I_ have ‘excellent control’? I’m pretty sure our professors would tell you otherwise.”

“But you do!” said Brelyna. “Most people can’t do what you just did. I mean, maybe we could, but it takes a lot of concentration.”

“And it’s like you aren’t even thinking about it,” said Onmund.

“I’ve _always_ been able to do that,” I said. “It doesn’t mean anything. You’ve all seen me in Professor Faralda’s class. Finesse isn’t really my thing.”

“That’s because you’re nervous in Faralda’s class,” said Nirya. “And you’re nervous now. Most magic requires a calm mind and a steady handle on your emotions.”

“Maybe that’s why you’re so good at it,” said Onmund cheerfully.

“Maybe,” she said. Then she seemed to realize he was complimenting her and actually smiled at him.

I took a deep breath. It was all sounding a little too familiar. Professor Tolfdir had lectured me on this very subject only last week. Why did it always have to come down to my emotions? But they were probably right. Maybe if I weren’t so worried about messing up, I’d have more confidence, and then I’d be able to complete the spell without totally losing control.

“All right,” I finally said. “I’ll try it. But if I manage to blow this one up, I’m not trying again.”

“I think we’re all agreed on that regardless,” said Nirya.

I reached into my inner robe pocket and pulled out the little glass ball. I took a breath, then held it up before me, narrowing my eyes and focusing, channeling the magicka needed to keep it afloat. I released it, watching as it hovered for a moment... then closed my eyes.

 _Focus_ , Professor Faralda was always saying. But what did that even mean? To focus meant to concentrate, and I was good at that. I could sit for hours with a book, never moving except to turn the pages; I used to clean methodically, too, back at the castle, moving from one task to the next with steady ease. I _knew_ how to focus. Just not when it came to magic.

To focus was to narrow your thoughts so that you only saw and felt and thought one singular thing. This book, or that task, or... _this spell_ , I thought, breathing in suddenly. So, I did it. I narrowed my focus, pushing all my other thoughts and feelings aside—my fear for my professors and fellow students, my fear for the king, my fear for myself and my friends.

I opened my eyes and looked at the hovering glass ball.

 _Move_ , I thought. _Find Savos Aren._

It bobbed up and down a few times then began to move.

“It’s working!” cried Brelyna.

“...Aaand there it goes,” said Onmund, as the glass ball picked up momentum and began to move away from the campfire.

“Casien,” said Nirya, her voice as calm as ever. “Let it go.”

So I did. I let out a little breath, and the ball, now about 20 feet away from us, stopped in its tracks and plummeted to the earth, landing in the slushy earth with a soft plop.

After a second, I got up and retrieved it, replacing it in my robe pocket.

“See,” said Nirya. “I knew you could do it.”

“A-huh,” I said, sitting down again.

“She’s trying to be nicer,” said Onmund, taking her hand. “You’re supposed to say, Thank you for believing in me, Nirya!”

“Thank you for believing in me, Nirya,” I said, trying not to grin. “Even though you didn’t.”

“You’re welcome,” she said.

A half an hour or so later, Hanna and Eleanor returned to the fire, Eleanor flopping down as if she’d just run from here to Winterhold and back. Hanna was no Galmar, but I knew the feeling. By then, however, none of us was keen on staying up much longer, for we’d been awake since dawn and had ridden hard all day. Onmund, Brelyna, and I helped Hanna and Ysme erect the tents, and we all fell asleep soon afterward.

The spell continued to lead us in a generally westward direction, keeping the sea always a few miles north of us, though never fully in view. The weather continued to be fickle, too; that first night, we were easily able to gather around an open fire and enjoy our dinner, but the second night, snow began to fall, and by nightfall the wind had picked up as well. We huddled inside while Ysme and Hanna saw to our dinner—that is, they were out fetching it while we built up the fire in the center of the larger of the two tents.

We were all tired and cold, though Nelacar’s amulets kept the worst of the chill away. Our muscled ached from riding, and our thoughts were heavy with our lack of success. Two full days of travel had passed, and we still hadn’t found our professors and fellow students. It had now been three days since they’d disappeared. Nelacar claimed they couldn’t be too far away, but suppose he were wrong? Or suppose Nirya’s spell had ceased to work properly? We simply had no way of knowing, and the fear of our failure weighed heavily on us all.

“I suppose there’s some record somewhere,” said Eleanor, breaking the silence among us as we all sat around the fire, “of all the faculty, staff, and students. We’ll have to inform their families if...”

“We’ll find them,” said Brelyna firmly, but I could tell from her expression that she barely believed her own words.

“Hanna once told me there was no point in worrying about something I couldn’t change,” I said, poking at the fire with a long stick.

“Was that about Ulfric?” asked Eleanor. “How’d that work out for you? You’ve literally been the saddest person I’ve ever known since the day I met you.”

“That’s a little rough,” said Onmund.

“But it’s true, isn’t it? We all agree?”

I rolled my eyes. “You’re exaggerating. I’m not the saddest person you’ve ever met. And I’ve been happy sometimes. Lots of times.” I looked at the others. “Right?”

They were all sort of looking at the fire or their hands. In essence, anywhere but at me.

“All right, fine,” I muttered. “So it was shit advice.”

“It’s not!” said Brelyna, squeezing my knee. “It’s just... you’re really not the best example of how not to worry about something.”

“Well at least you guys all have family to return to if this all goes south!” I said, the bitter words tumbling abruptly out of me. I glanced at Onmund, feeling a pang of guilt. “Sorry. I know you don’t, either—but at least you have Nirya. Me—if I don’t have the college—I might have nothing at all. If he’s dead, and they’re all dead—honestly? I might as well be dead, too.”

“This is the worst pep talk I’ve ever been given,” said Nirya.

“You are literally proving my point right now,” said Eleanor.

I sighed and groaned, leaning forward to rest my head briefly in my hands.

“Fine, fine,” I muttered. “You’re right. I’m a worrier. But...” I lifted my head, my tired eyes meeting theirs. “Come on, guys. We still have a few days before it becomes hopeless.”

They all nodded. No one could disagree with that because it was true—unless where the others were left them without access to food or water. A person could theoretically go weeks without food, I knew, but not water.

I sighed. I was doing it, _again_.

Dinner continued in this same somber vein, and rather than brave the weather and erect the other tent, we decide to all cram our bedrolls together around the fire. My thoughts kept me awake long after most, if not all, of the others had fallen asleep. I lay there on my back, gazing up at the darkness above, Ysme’s arm flopped over onto my chest while Brelyna cuddled in her sleep against my right side.

The following day saw us in no better spirits, and our depression seemed to have even spread to Hanna and Ysme. We were subdued and quiet as we broke camp and saddled the horses. Brelyna cast the inaugural location spell for the day, and we were off. I was half falling asleep in the saddle when my horse abruptly stopped, mainly because Hanna and Eleanor’s horse had stopped before us.

“What is it?” asked Brelyna, peeking over my shoulder.

Hanna held up a hand, silencing us. Behind us, Ysme dismounted and, wrapping her horse’s reins around a nearby tree, unsheathed her sword and crept past us. The path dipped below almost immediately and was covered in sturdy evergreens, so she was soon lost from view. We remained seated on our horses, quiet and unmoving, and I’m sure I wasn’t the only one whose heart was pounding in his chest.

Ten minutes later, Ysme returned.

She said something to Hanna, and Hanna nodded. The latter turned her horse around and indicated that we should do the same, Onmund and Nirya leading the way as we retraced our steps. After we’d ridden for about minute or two, the scouts had us dismount. They tied up the horses, then finally let us in on what was going on.

“Bandits,” said Ysme, once we’d all gathered around. “Spread around what looks like the mouth to a cave. Could be coincidence, but I think these could be our guys.”

“You’ll go back with Ysme,” said Hanna, nodding at Nirya. “If you’re up to it. Work the spell. Try it from several locations. If it keeps pointing towards the cave, then that’s where we have to go.”

Nirya’s eyes had widened slightly when Hanna singled her out, but she soon steadied herself and nodded.

“Be careful,” said Onmund, his voice wavering a little. She paused to kiss his cheek before following Ysme.

“What about the rest of us?” I asked.

“We wait for them to return,” said Hanna.

So we waited. Ysme, along with Nirya, was gone much longer this time, presumably because they were testing the location spell. Finally, nearly an hour had passed before they finally returned, and I didn’t know whether to consider what they had to say to be bad news or good news: the spell did indeed point towards the presumed interior of the cave.

“All right,” said Hanna, looking at Ysme, “How do we do this.”

“They’ve set up camp right in front of the opening,” said Ysme. “There are five there now sitting around the fire. There are at least six more patrolling the surrounding area.”

“So we take out the patrols before the others know we’re here.”

“Aye, we can try. But the woods is sparse. Sooner or later, they’re going to realize we’re here.”

Hanna nodded. She rubbed her chin for a moment, the action oddly enough reminding me of the king, who used to do the same whenever I’d asked him something he didn’t seem to particularly wish to answer.

“Okay, magelings,” she said, looking at us. “Which if you can make the biggest explosion.”

Without fail, every single one of my friends pointed to me.

Hanna snorted. “Why am I not surprised.”


	24. Chapter 24

Today I can say with some degree of certainty that the gods were gazing down on us that day. I’ve never truly learned the art of being religious, but to this day I can think of no other reason for why we weren’t wholesale slaughtered by what were undoubtedly Malyn’s hirelings. We were two young soldiers, four apprentice mages, and one assistant librarian. In contrast, there were at least eleven hirelings, all of them armed and armored to the teeth.

Eleanor wisely accepted Hanna’s declaration that she should stay with the horses. Onmund, when he learned what was to be asked of us, volunteered to do the same. His abilities with destruction magic had never reached the level of mine, Brelyna’s, or Nirya’s. If necessary, he could use illusion magic to disguise himself and hopefully Eleanor, should they be discovered.

So that left Hanna, Ysme, Brelyna, Nirya, and me.

Constructing traps would have been ideal, but we had neither the time nor the manpower, and we apprentices weren’t experienced enough to avoid them in the heat of battle. Instead, Hanna positioned us in a copse of firs not far from the mouth of the cave.

It was Ysme’s job to take out as many archers as possible. Once she was discovered, she would have to flee, or risk taking on the remaining bandits. At her signal, we were to initiate our part of the attack and create the distraction that would lead the enemy away from her and towards us.

Which meant me, of course. Casien Yedlin, distractor of kings and bandits.

The sound of distant yelling, followed by the clear, fluting sound of a songbird filtered through the trees. Hanna turned to me and nodded, unsheathing her sword. I took a deep breath and focused. The tree before me was old, but it was half dead, too, its wood rotting and ripe for burning. I still did not like using magic to destroy a living thing, but this was for the lives of my professors and fellow students. Maybe, in my own small and insignificant way, I was learning what any good king already knew: sometimes sacrifice is necessary in pursuit of the greater good.

I closed my eyes and drew in the wild magic all around me. I was nervous and afraid, but the feeling wasn’t anywhere near what I had experienced when facing down Malyn, so I felt confident the magic would manifest properly, and I wouldn’t accidentally electrocute my friends. I gathered as much magicka inside me as I could before finally releasing it, thrusting my palms forward and towards the poor tree. An immense fireball formed and flew towards it, engulfing it in a loud burst of hot fire and ash. Within seconds, the tree, as well as several surrounding trees, were burning.

Oh. Well, I clearly still lacked control. Luckily the copse was surrounded on all sides by barren dirt and snow, so I hadn’t inadvertently just started a forest fire.

“Here they come!” shouted Hanna, for the explosion had attracted the remaining bandits, as planned. “Prepare yourselves!”

There were at least eight of them, or so I counted, as the armored bodies advanced upon us through the haze of the smoke. Several had their swords raised. One I saw wielded a giant axe. They were shouting battle cries, now that they’d seen us and marked us for dead. Between me and them stood Hanna, who gripped her own sword with two hands.

A fireball shot over my shoulder. It flew past us, missing its target—the lead bandit—but only barely. I looked back and saw Nirya, her expression pinched and her hands held up, palms out. I breathed in.

“For Skyrim!” cried Hanna, bringing her sword down to meet the first bandit, the clash of steel echoing in the smoky air.

“For the college!” I said. Drawing strength from my friends, I shot out a fireball of my own, this time relying on my own magicka. My aim and control were far better, though the power was greatly diminished. No matter: it hit an advancing bandit in the chest, knocking her back and engulfing her torso in flames.

There was no time to shudder at the horror of the injuries we were inflicting. We apprentices dodged and shot, flinging our spells at warriors far older, more experienced, and less reluctant to kill. One man brought his shield up and blocked my spell, the flames licking the edges of the shield before dissipating in the cold air. In less than three seconds, he was before me.

But he was no Galmar Stone-Fist, and I had trained for this. I suppose, in that sense, Ulfric was right. Rather than stand like a frightened lamb to the slaughter and rely on my magic to save me, my hands seemed to move automatically, drawing my sword and dagger. I dodged his initial swing, just as I had been taught to do, then spun around and sliced my sword across the back of his leather-clad knee. He staggered, probably surprised, but regained his composure, despite the no doubt searing, crippling pain. However, this time when he swung for me, I aimed another fireball right at his face. That one he didn’t block.

I backed away, breathing quickly and half-choking on the smoke-filled air. I watched as the bandit rolled in the snow, clutching at his face and screaming. It would be a mercy to kill him, but that was beyond me at that point. I turned away from him, sickened, and prepared myself to meet the next adversary.

It was over faster than I would have anticipated. Was this the battle-fever I’d sometimes overheard the soldiers in the yard speaking of? I was no Nord, however, and I felt more sustained by fear and adrenaline than bloodlust. Then again, perhaps words like ‘battle-fever’ and ‘bloodlust’ are just words invented by warriors to make their own fear more bearable.

“Everyone still alive?”

Hanna’s voice rang out over the sound of the crackling, burning trees. She came towards me, pausing to wipe her sword against the clothing of a dead bandit before sheathing it. I straightened, still panting, and nodded. A cry of alarm, however, had us both whirling around.

“It’s Nirya!” said Brelyna. “She’s hurt!”

We rushed over. Nirya was half-bent over, her hand on her stomach, Brelyna standing beside her. As we approached, Nirya looked up at us, her face pale. There was blood seeping out from beneath her hand, staining her tunic dark red.

Hanna caught her before she could fall.

“There, lass,” she said, hoisting and cradling Nirya in her arms. “You can relax now. We’ll get you back to your man; he’s a healer, isn’t he?”

Brelyna and I exchanged a look. Onmund was an excellent healer—an _apprentice_ healer. We remained silent as we followed Hanna back to where Onmund, Eleanor, and the horses were waiting. It was a long hike, for she and Ysme had made sure that the non-combatants were as far from the fighting as possible. Yet she showed no signs of fatigue, and indeed, we almost had to jog to keep up with her.

Poor Onmund. He saw us as we emerged from the trees and into the clearing. The horses startled as he cried out, jumping to his feet and racing towards us.

Hanna lay Nirya out on the ground. Nirya’s eyes were half-open now, her chest rising and falling a bit too rapidly. Her gaze found Onmund’s, and she opened her mouth, trying to say something, but evidently failing.

“It’s all right,” he said, taking her free hand in his. “You’ll be fine. We’ll… we just need to…”

Hanna crouched down opposite him, ducking her head so she could meet his eyes.

“Focus,” she said. “Stab wound, through the middle. Did it miss the intestines? How do we prevent infection? How do we stop the bleeding?”

Onmund looked at her, then back down at the wound, blinking, his own mouth working silent for a few seconds.

“I… I don’t…”

“Yes, you do,” said Hanna. “Step 1—”

“Step 1,” he repeated, swallowing. He nodded, looking back down at the wound. “Step 1, we remove the clothing, then flush the wound with soap and water. No! I—I wash my hands first, then clean the wound!”

Hanna nodded, and together, they began cutting away part of Nirya’s tunic and undershirt. Meanwhile, Eleanor brought one of the water flasks over; I hurried to another saddlebag and dug around in it, searching until my fingers found—a-ha!—a bar of lavender soap. It was Nirya’s bag, of course—Mara bless her fastidiousness. It was probably going to save her life.

Once the wound was cleaned, Onmund used magic to stop the bleeding, and, after using the same spell he’d used on the guards on Nirya, proceeded to help Hanna sew the wound shut.

By then, Ysme had returned. She assured us that all of the guards had been killed, so far as she could tell, and all that remained was for us to explore the cave. Onmund, not surprisingly, insisted that he remain here.

“I’ll stay with them,” said Hanna, which _did_ surprise me. But then she explained: “Bandits aren’t the only thing we have to worry about out here. And there’s no way of knowing if they deployed long range scouts.”

“Agreed,” said Ysme, “Then I’ll take this lot back to the cave. With luck, we’ll return with good news.”

She turned then and led the way, the three of us—me, Eleanor, and Brelyna—following along behind.

“How was it?” whispered Eleanor, glancing at the two of us. “Was it horrible? I can still see the fire and smoke from here.”

“No!” said Brelyna, shaking her head and sort of absently hugging herself as we walked. I noticed some of the hair from her little buns had come loose, too. “I can’t talk about it. It was… awful.”

I met Eleanor’s eyes and nodded. There was really nothing more to say about it.

“Not everyone’s cut out for killing and fighting,” said Ysme over her shoulder. “Doesn’t make you any less brave to feel bad about it afterward.”

Brelyna nodded, but I could tell she was still distraught. I silently took her hand and gave it a squeeze. I suppose I was used to that feeling by now; really, I had racked up quite the body count by then. Seven people by now, I thought. Or was it eight? I had blasted one mercenary with fire, but instead of charging me, he’d taken off screaming, covering his burning face. I don’t know what become of him, other than that he had died with the others, presumably.

We passed one dead body, an arrow sticking out of the man’s head, right between the eyes. Ysme paused to yank it out, wiping the bits of flesh off against the man’s shoulder before examining the arrow point and, apparently judging it still usable, sliding it back into her quiver. Brelyna looked away hastily and turned even greener than normal; I was afraid she was going to be sick, but she seemed to rally herself. Eleanor put her arm around her shoulders and gave her a squeeze.

The mouth of the cave was silent, save for the far off crashing of the waves and the distant sound of a tree succumbing to the fire and finally falling amongst its fellows. The wind was bitterly cold, for we were close to the shore, and perhaps even further north by now than Winterhold.

“I’ll take point,” said Ysme. “Casien behind me. Stay close everyone.”

I kept my hand on my sword hilt as we crept into the cave’s darkened interior. It was mostly an ice cave, however, and some light filtered eerily through the frozen walls and ceiling. When we came to an intersection, we paused and waited for Brelyna to cast the location spell—thank every god we had asked Nirya to teach us how to do so. Of course, the globe only moved in a straight line from us to our intended target (in this case, Professor Aren), so we had to double back at least twice when it became apparent that the path was heading in the wrong direction.

Eventually, the path opened up to a large room. There was less light here, as the room itself seemed to be mostly rock. In the dim lighting, we could see familiar objects, perhaps over a hundred of them, dotting the cave floor: bodies.

“Ysmir…!” cried Eleanor, and we all ran forward at once, each of us crouching before one of the bodies. The one I knelt before was clothed in adept blue, and I hesitated before placing my fingers to his throat, feeling…

“This one has a pulse!” I said. It was weak, but it was there. Eleanor and Brelyna said that theirs lived, too.

“This one is dead,” said Ysme, grimly.

We all looked over in horror. It was an apprentice, a young Bosmer girl. I didn’t really know her; I think she lived on the third or fourth floor of the tower. I sucked in a breath and bit my lip—I didn’t want to cry, but for us to be so close, and to realize we were already too late…

“I think I see Professor Aren!” said Brelyna.

We rushed over, and, sure enough, it was the Arch-Mage. He was alive. We did everything we could to try and wake him, but nothing seemed to work. This, we soon realized, was the case with all of our professors and fellow students.

“They’re in some kind of trance,” said Eleanor, frowning. “It must be a spell.”

“But Malyn’s dead,” I pointed out. “Any spell he cast should have died the second he did.”

“Then,” she reasoned, “It isn’t Malyn casting the spell.”

We all fell momentarily silent, chilled by this new possibility. Did Malyn have an accomplice, and if so, was that person nearby? Could Eleanor’s suspicions about Nelacar have been right all along? But no, I didn’t want to believe that, for he had seemed genuine in his concern.

“Cast that spell again,” said Ysme. “That look-y one.”

I blinked. “The what one?”

She rolled her eyes.

“The one with the little ball in the air, that makes it go _shooop!_ ” She made a funny motion with her hand, swinging it out away from her as if to illustrate something going away very fast.

“The location spell?” said Brelyna. She seemed to start. “Oh! You’re right! Why didn’t I think of that?”

“What’s the point in that?” I asked, frowning. “We already found the Arch-Mage.”

“…But _have_ we?” asked Eleanor, her eyes widening. “Have we really?”

I wasn’t quite sure where they were going with this line of thinking, but I had to admit, it was much better than assuming there was another mage as vicious and powerful as Malyn Varen lurking nearby.

So once again Brelyna took the little glass globe from her pocket and held it up, closing her eyes momentarily before casting the spell. It floated over the bodies on the floor, moving vaguely in the direction of Professor Aren, but it didn’t pause over him. _It kept going_.

“Follow it!” I cried.

We hurried after it. It led us down a  short path before the path turned slightly, causing the glass ball to smack into the ice wall and shatter before we could stop it. But we continued following the path, and when we reached the end—well, I’m not sure what any of us was expecting, but what we encountered was probably nothing like we would have imagined.

It was a large, star-shaped artifact, and it sat propped up on a stone in the center of a small room, balancing on two points as if doing so were completely normal. Magic hummed all around it, and it seemed to pulse; I could almost feel it reaching out towards me, wrapping its ephemeral claws around my heart and tugging me closer. It was not a comfortable feeling.

“Do you feel that?” I asked Brelyna, who nodded, her face troubled.

“That’s Azrua’s star,” breathed Eleanor, and I blinked.

“It can’t be,” I said. “Azura’s star is a myth.”

“Wasn’t it supposedly created by the goddess herself?” asked Brelyna.

Eleanor shook her head. “Origins of powerful artifacts are almost always steeped in mythology and mystery. How it came to be is unimportant. How it came to be _here_ , and what it’s _doing_ here… probably more so.”

“All right,” said Ysme, standing behind us now with her arms crossed. “Now tell us what the bloody star thing has to do with all those half-dead people we just left?”

“It’s a soul trap,” said Eleanor, kneeling down to examine it, though being careful not to get too close. “In most cases, it will trap a soul in another realm after a person touches it. I suppose Malyn must have used a spell to trap the souls of everyone in the college without them having to physically touch the star. Well—I don’t know if ‘trap’ is the right word, really.”

“Right,” I said, trying to recall a book I’d read on such artifacts, though it had been all the way back in Windhelm. “The souls can be returned to the body, but if they’re not…”

“…The bodies die,” finished Brelyna.

We all looked at one another. How long had the souls of the others been trapped inside the star? The entire time we’d been searching for them? If so, they’d all been without food and water for days now. No wonder some had begun to die.

“So how do we get them out?” asked Ysme.

“I don’t know,” said Eleanor. She looked at me, but I shook my head; I didn’t know either.

But I did have an idea.

“So,” I said, chewing on my bottom lip a bit, which was probably a sure sign to my friends that I was about to say something they wouldn’t like. “I have an idea.”

“Oh no,” said Eleanor. “Not again.”

“Is this another one of those ‘put myself in mortal peril so Ysme can give me another scolding’ ideas?” snapped Ysme, hands on her hips.

“What is it?” asked Brelyna.

I breathed in. “Well, suppose we form Brelyna’s barrier again. We sit so that the star is at the center of our circle, and I reach forward and touch it. I guess it could be any of us who touches it, but I think it should be a mage, and Brelyna will be controlling the barrier. The star will transport my soul to—well, wherever the others are. Once I’m there, I can ask our professors how we should destroy the star.”

“Then use the link between our minds created by the barrier to tell us what to do!” finished Brelyna.

I nodded, then looked at Eleanor and Ysme. “Well?”

“Hate it,” said Ysme. “As usual, worst idea ever.”

Eleanor hesitated though.

“I mean… it _could_ work,” she said, slowly. “In theory. But we don’t know how strong the link between us all really is. And if the barrier should fail while you’re trapped in the star…”

“Then we make sure it doesn’t fail,” I said.

The vote was three against one, so Ysme grudgingly complied as we all formed a circle around the star and joined hands. Ysme had me shift, too, so that when I lost consciousness I would fall back against her. It was rather awkward, since she had to essentially put her right arm around me to hold my left wrist—for I intended to touch the star with my left hand—as Brelyna was holding my right hand.

“Everyone ready?” Brelyna asked.

We all said that we were. Within seconds, we had the barrier up—I was a little surprised and relieved, if I’m honest, because there were only two mages present this time, and Ysme knew absolutely nothing about magic.

I opened my eyes. It was just as incredible as the first time we’d done this, only now—I somehow felt as if I could feel and discern even more than I could then. Brelyna was nervous but proud that her barrier was proving to be so useful. Eleanor was deathly afraid for the others, and… for me, I realized, the thought humbling. Ysme was simply afraid.

“It’s only magic,” I teased over my shoulder. “I thought you said not all Nords were afraid of magic.”

“Shut up, mage boy,” she said. “Touch the damn star and be grateful I don’t let you smack your head against the stone floor.”

I snorted, thankful for the moment of levity. But then I gathered myself, took a deep breath—and reached for the star.

I felt Ysme’s arm tighten around my waist the second before the scene around me flashed into darkness, and suddenly I felt myself hurtling far, far away.

It was like being squeezed through an impossibly thin, impossibly dark tube. It felt as if my journey lasted forever, yet when it ended, it seemed as if only a moment had passed. Darkness gave way to a sudden, momentary burst of light, and suddenly I was on my feet again, stumbling forward, and gasping in the cool, dark air.

I leaned forward, hands on my knees, needing to catch my breath before straightening. Several figures began to approach me through the gloom, and I reached instinctively for my sword, though of course it wasn’t there.

“Ah,” said the vaguely familiar voice of the Arch-Mage, “Casien Yedlin. Of course.”

“…Hello, Professor,” I said. I wondered what he’d meant by ‘of course.’ I didn’t yet (and probably still don’t) have the self-confidence to assume the connotation was positive.

“Well, well,” murmured Professor Mirabelle. “It seems you were right, Savos. I suppose I owe you a septum.”

Behind them milled a few hundred or so more dark shapes—the rest of the faculty, staff, and students of Winterhold College, I assumed. Gradually, the rest of the professors joined us, each coming to stare at me in wonder and question how I’d gotten here, and if any of my friends were with me (for they had counted heads and noticed the absence of myself, Eleanor, Brelyna, Onmund, and Nirya), and if I had any plan to release their souls back to their bodies.

“The plan was to ask all of _you_ ,” I said. “We figured at least one of you would know how to do it.”

“That may be so,” said Professor Aren, “But we can hardly do so from within here.”

“I’m afraid you may be as stuck now as we are, my boy,” said Professor Tolfdir.

I was relieved to see he lived, and looked quite healthy, as well. But I realized they all looked healthy and hale, and this was no doubt in dramatic contrast to their physical bodies, which currently lay dying on the floor of the ice cave.

“Don’t worry,” I assured them, “We may not have a way of getting me back out. But we do have a way of communicating—sort of. So if you tell me what to do, I can tell the others back in Skyrim.”

This was, naturally, rather intriguing to them, and they demanded (politely) to know how this was possible. Professor Tolfdir was quite proud of Brelyna when I explained her barrier, and he correctly guessed that this was what had spared us from Malyn’s spell in the first place. The others were a little more dubious, but he convinced them that the theory was sound, and when questioned as to whether or not I could still feel the thoughts and feelings of my friends…

“…Yes,” I said, after concentrating for a moment. “It’s… very far away, but I can still feel them.” I frowned. “They’re worried.”

“And we should not tarry any longer,” said the Arch-Mage, “for they may succumb to their worries and do something drastic.”

“Indeed, indeed,” agreed Tolfdir, “If they should break the barrier, for instance, it would be quite the disaster.”

“All right,” I said, nodding. “Then tell me what they need to do.”

“I believe the solution is to simply destroy the star,” said the Arch-Mage. “Faralda and Sergius: do you agree?”

“I do,” said Professor Faralda, a grave look on her face. “But I do not think destruction magic will suffice. They will need to physically smash it.”

“My friend Ysme can probably handle that,” I said.

“Smash it!” cried Professor Turrianus, “but Savos, consider what we are doing! Destroying an artifact like Azrua’s star!”

“I understand, Sergius, but the alternative is that we all remain here and eventually die.”

“Which brings to mind something else,” said Professor Mirabelle, looking at me. “Casien—did you come across our bodies?” When I nodded, she hesitated before asking, quietly, “Did we all—that is, were there some who no longer breathed?”

It was a question I had been hoping they wouldn’t ask. I steeled myself before answering.

“Not all,” I said. “At least one person didn’t make it. But we didn’t check everyone.”

A ripple of disquiet passed through them all, and then Professor Faralda spoke up: “Might you tell us who?”

Again, I hesitated.

“My dear Faralda,” said Tolfdir, laying a gentle hand on the shoulder of his colleague, “We ask too much from him. It is not for an apprentice to carry such dire news. I for one feel it is best that we all leave this place believing that we will be returning to our bodies and our loved ones.”

I almost sagged with relief, particularly when Faralda conceded and the others appeared to agree. With that, I closed my eyes and tried to focus on the thoughts and feelings of my three friends still sitting around the star. I reached for their minds, but everything was too far, too fuzzy. I felt their fear and their worry for me—I couldn’t distinguish from one person or the other, however. I tried to envision reaching out to them, letting them know I was still alive and well.

_?_

The only way I can describe their response is as a question. I don’t know what the question was; I just felt it pushing against the blankness of my thoughts. _Yes,_ I thought, _I’m still here. Don’t worry._

_?_

I decided to forge ahead and try to communicate what my professors had told me. _Destroy the star,_ I thought. _Destroy it. Smash it. Drop a stone on it._ I pictured it being demolished in any number of ways: being smashed with a hammer, being booted against the side of the cave wall. Anything.

“Is it working?” I heard Professor Mirabelle say.

I opened my eyes. Then everything when dark again.


	25. Chapter 25

I sat up with a gasp.

I was back in the small cave. The rock which had once held the darkly pulsing star was now bare. I gazed down at the stone floor, where the star’s remnants now lay scattered, and blinked, and tried to breathe. It felt strange to be back in my body, and I suppose my mind wasn’t quite sure what to make of it at first.

“It worked!”

Eleanor’s triumphant shout seemed to finally pull me firmly back into the here and now. Before I knew it, a pair of familiar arms wrapped around me, and I was once against the recipient of another of Brelyna’s fierce hugs. I heard Ysme say something smug about _knowing it would work_ ; this was swiftly followed by a few tart words from Eleanor, and soon the two were arguing. I didn’t care. They were alive, and I was alive, and as for our professors and the other students...

I could hear them. Their voices began to trickle down the short tunnel, echoing from the large room where their bodies had lain dormant for so long. They sounded weak and tired and even frightened. I exchanged a look with my friends. Ysme offered me a hand up, and soon we were all hurrying back to help.

We were greeted with a soft cry of horror and grief as one of the dead apprentices was discovered. Later, I would learn that five people in total had been lost: three apprentices, one adept, and a member of the staff. To this day, I don’t know what Savos told their families. I can only assume it wasn’t the truth.

Some of the faculty and master students began conjuring food and water—highly complex spells that translocated edible surrounding foliage and fruit. The four of us were very busy for an hour or so, helping as much as we could. One of Malyn Varen’s predictions did prove apt: Professor Urag seemed one of the least affected. After enduring a rather touching embrace from his flustered assistant, the five of us hiked back out to the mouth of the cave, where we began to gather fuel for fires and do our best to begin constructing a temporary camp for over 100 people.

Eventually, Brelyna, Eleanor, and I found Professor Marence, who was able to sit up and speak, though she looked weakened beyond words. When I told her about Nirya, she closed her eyes for a moment and seemed to breathe in, as if steadying herself.

“Is she far?” she asked.

“Not more than a half an hour’s hike from here,” I said.

She nodded weakly. “Then you had best bring her to me. I will do what I can.”

Brelyna and Eleanor chose to stay behind and continue helping the others, so I made my way back to the others on my own. After everything I had been through, a half hour’s walk through the bone-chillingly cold spruce forest held little for me to fear. Along the way, a distant whuffling sound caught my attention, and I paused and spied a far off cave bear. It made me think, of course, of the king, though this one was female, with two little cubs tumbling after her. I smiled and kept walking.

Hanna and Onmund were relieved to see me, and Onmund was overwhelmed with relief that the others had been found and saved. Hanna agreed to carry Nirya while Onmund and I gathered the horses and stomped out the fire. Halfway back, Onmund insisted on relieving Hanna, who I’m sure was too stubborn to complain of weariness.

Professor Marence pronounced her favorite student’s efforts exemplary, which brought a pink tinge to Omnund’s cheeks, and Nirya was declared stable and given a very positive prognosis. Some of our fellow students were less fortunate, though we somehow managed to not lose anyone else. I suppose if we had been anything other than a group of mages—several among us the brightest mages in Skyrim, no doubt—we wouldn’t have made it. But we could enchant freezing water to run hot; we could conjure berries and mushrooms from the surrounding forest. We also had two exceptionally skilled hunters who promptly went out and slaughtered nearly every animal they came across—I imagine Hanna and Ysme rent a rather sizable dent in the local ecosystem those few days we remained recuperating within the cave, but it couldn’t be helped. Those of us who knew how to fish—I had grown up near the sea, so I was no stranger to it myself—hiked down to the shore to exercise our talents.

Everyone was in reasonably good spirits, despite the grief we all felt over the loss of the five whose souls never returned from the star. I am sure their friends suffered greatly; I can scarcely imagine what it would feel like to learn that Brelyna or Eleanor or Ysme had died—and to see their bodies lying still and wasted, and to know that they had been so close to being rescued, had their rescuers only arrived a little bit earlier—yet no one blamed us. On the contrary, we were hailed as heroes, which I don’t think any of us truly felt comfortable with. All we had done was what any of the others would have done. And it could have so easily ended much, much worse. Had Hanna and Ysme not been with us, for example, we wouldn’t have stood a chance against so many hired thugs out here in the open.

By the third day, it was declared that most were well enough to begin traveling back. Nirya, too, was doing much better, and that was mostly thanks to Onmund’s care and Professor Marence’s expertise, I’m sure. She did occasionally complain of pain, though, and as it was unlike her to complain at all, I took that to mean her pain was rather severe, though probably nothing out of the ordinary, considering her injury. Nevertheless, I told my friends I would go and look for Professor Marence, to see if she might recommend something we could look for to give her.

The cave was now dotted with cheerful little fires, and I had to meander my way around them, as well as try not to wilt under the friendly ‘Casien!’s that were thrown my way when people recognized me—us five apprentices were all stars now; everyone knew who we were, and even those who might have once teased or laughed at me were now prone to take my hand and shake it and tearfully thank me for my efforts.

I finally found the professor, seated around a larger fire with many of her colleagues, all of whom appeared to be engaged in serious discussion. I hovered, my hand resting against the cool stone of the cave wall, not wanting to interrupt, yet unable to not overhear their conversation, too.

“But we cannot remain here much longer,” said the Arch-Mage, his calm voice cutting through the low murmurs of argument among the others. “It is impossible to ask so much of Nelacar. The entirety of the college cannot remain under the supervision of one person, no matter how skilled or well-meaning.”

“And there are more mundane issues that need to be addressed,” said Professor Faralda. “We are running out of food. There is scant wildlife left in the area, and we have plundered all the local flora.”

“But we cannot move so many people, many of whom are still recovering, on foot,” argued Professor Marence. “Not with only five horses.”

“The answer seems simple enough,” said Professor Mirabelle. “We send someone ahead to Winterhold. The jarl must be petitioned. He can send horses and even soldiers for protection.”

“Absolutely not,” said the Arch-Mage. “The jarl has little love for the college. He will use the knowledge of our exposure to his advantage. Furthermore, this will alert the people of Winterhold that the college is indeed vulnerable to attack. They are fearful enough of us as it is.”

“Petition Windhelm,” I said, the words flying out of my mouth before I could think to stop them.

I felt all the blood drain from my face as they all looked up at me, not a one having realized I’d been listening.

“Write to them,” I said, somehow managing to find the ability to keep speaking. “The war is won. Ulfric Stormcloak is High King of Skyrim. It is his duty to aid his people, and that includes us.”

“Casien,” said Professor Mirabelle, the first to speak up after a somewhat awkward silence had fallen, “Believe me when I say we all realize how much we owe you and your friends. And I realize you—pardon me for saying what you may not wish to be said—I realize you have a rather special relationship with Windhelm’s jarl, which I suppose encourages your support of his cause. But the college does not recognize such things and never has.”

“And though we do indeed owe you a great debt,” said Faralda, apparently agreeing with her. “I’m afraid this discussion does not require the input of an apprentice.”

“Harsh words, however politely you put them,” said Professor Urag, his gruff voice startling me. He’d been sitting a little apart from the others, and I hadn’t realized he was there.

They began to argue again, though I noticed Professor Tolfdir did not join them. He looked at me and smiled, giving me a little wink, and I could feel my face coloring in response. He was obviously the one who’d told the others about my relationship with the king, though I could hardly blame him.

Eventually, Professor Aren held up a hand, stilling the voices of the others.

“Young Casien,” he said to me, “Come and join us. Perhaps, after all, what we require most is the opinion of someone new.”

When I hesitated, Tolfdir actually laughed, probably startling some of his peers.

“Ah, Savos,” he said, with a merrily reproving smile, “This is what you get for washing your hands of apprentices. You don’t know them as we do. Why, the poor boy is terrified of you!”

I blushed, fiercely embarrassed by such a proclamation, but then he actually stood up and came over to me, patting me on the back and gesturing for me to come forward.

“There, now,” he said, “Come and sit by me, if you like, for you know that I shan’t bite, unlike some of the others, eh?”

“I’m not _afraid_ of anyone, Professor,” I protested, though I could feel even my ears turning red at this point. Nevertheless, I obliged him, sitting down before the fire and trying to ignore the smiles of the other faculty as he sat down beside me.

He gave my shoulder another little pat.

“You _can_ be rather intimidating, you know,” said Mirabelle, smiling at Savos, who blinked and looked completely shocked by the revelation.

“Can I?” he asked. “And Tolfdir, you know I am terrible with apprentices. I haven’t the patience, and I am too hard on them.”

“Indeed, indeed,” agreed Tolfdir, laughing again. “I suppose you had best leave their tender care to us after all.”

“Now,” said Mirabelle, turning to me, “it was not my intent to either embarrass or dismiss you, but I’m afraid I stand by my earlier assessment.”

“Yet I would hear his explanation, just the same, Mirabelle,” said the Arch-Mage, surprising me. “As you and Faralda both pointed out: we owe him. The least we can do is allow him to explain himself.”

I swallowed, then, as every eye once again turned to me.

“You said the war was finished,” said Tolfdir, prompting me gently. “How do you know this?”

“Through a letter,” I said, “The one I told you about.” Only, I couldn’t remember what parts of the letter I’d shared with him, but I supposed it didn’t really matter. “There had been a great battle, but the Stormcloaks were the victors. And my friends, Hanna and Ysme, they’re Stormcloak scouts. They said the path to Solitude must have been an easy one, and that they were instructed to return home to Windhelm, for the war was all but over.”

“I see,” said Savos, stroking his short beard. “But why have us write to Windhelm for assistance if your king is still in Solitude?”

“I don’t know where he is right now,” I answered, trying not to dwell on the troubling thought. “But we don’t need the king specifically. Lia Stone-Fist is in charge of Windhelm while Ulfric and her husband are away. She will act in the king’s name.”

“All right,” he said, “and why should this Lia Stone-Fist help us?”

“Because Ulfric is High King, so Windhelm is the seat of the High King. It is Windhelm’s duty to come to the aid of its people when they are in need. Ulfric believes this; they all do. They felt the Imperial presence fractured Skyrim’s political structure and set the jarls against one another, made the holds more insular. But he wants to change this.”

“And you know all this, merely from—again, forgive me—from sharing his bed?” said Professor Mirabelle, fixing me with a pointed look.

“That seems rather an impertinent question,” I heard Professor Marence murmur to one of her colleagues.

“I know this because I know the king,” I said, doing my very best to maintain a hold on my temper. “How many hours have _you_ spent with him, Professor, discussing history and political philosophy? I know him. And I know that if you petition for aid, Windhelm will answer.”

“And if you are correct,” said Savos, “and Windhelm does respond? It will take weeks for any aid to reach us.”

“There are Stormcloak camps scattered all throughout the wilds,” I said, “between here and Dawnstar. Ask Hanna and Ysme. If one of them rides out to the nearest camp tomorrow, she could reach it in a day or two. They can ride harder and faster when alone. A message by bird would take only a few days to reach Windhelm. From there, Lia can order the surrounding camps to send horses and supplies.”

“And she would respect our desire for discretion?” he asked.

I hesitated. _That_ I wasn’t entirely sure of. To be fully honest, I wasn’t entirely sure of this entire plan, but I _did_ know Ulfric. I believed that he would assist the college simply because it was part of Skyrim, and he was now High King of Skyrim. I knew, too, that Lia Stone-Fist would act as she thought he would wish for her to act. But beyond that?

I thought of her now—this woman I genuinely didn’t really know, though she had seemed to take me immediately under her wing the moment we met. That morning, which felt an age ago now rather than only a few months, she had accepted me for who I was. I was Ulfric Stormcloak’s lover—not merely his bedmate, but the person most dear to him, and her respect for her king bid her offer that same respect immediately to me. Such was the trust she placed in him.

“Let me write to her,” I said. “If I tell her how necessary it is that our absence from the college be kept secret, I think she’ll listen to me.”

The Arch-Mage sat back with a sigh. He was silent for a moment, and so were the others—I think they could tell he was nearing a decision, and that the time for argument was at an end.

“Would that you sounded, perhaps, just a little more certain of your powers of persuasion,” he finally said. “However, given the circumstances, and the current dire situation, I do not see how we have much choice.”

His eyes met mine. “Find your Stormcloak friends and send them here, please. If at all possible I would have them leave tonight. I will begin drafting the letter. You may include your personal plea to this Lia Stone-Fist in a post-script.”

“Yes, Professor,” I said.

Before I rose to my feet, I felt Professor Tolfdir give my back a little pat again, and I couldn’t help returning the little smile he flashed me.

Hanna and Ysme didn’t mind at all that I had volunteered one of them for a new job. In the end, it was decided that Hanna would go, as Ysme was the slightly better hunter and so could continue providing food for the mages and staff.

Afterward, I realized I had forgotten about finding something to give Nirya, so I returned to Professor Marence. She instructed me to go out and look for a particular herb that liked to grow at the base of the trees in the area, and to pluck the little black mushrooms that rose up their trunks like snails. Onmund would know how to blend them, she said.

I thought he might come with me, but Eleanor volunteered instead.

“I know what she’s talking about,” she said, as we made our way through the outer cave passage. “They’re both pretty easy to find.”

“So…” I said, once we were outside, pulling our cloaks around our shoulders as the wind immediately picked up.

She sighed. 

“Don’t.”

I glanced at her.

“Don’t?”

“Don’t play the innocent, Casien. I know you want to ask about… well, I know what you want to ask about. And honestly, there’s nothing to really talk about. So there’s no point in even bothering.”

I remained silent, snapping my fingers as we moved further from the mouth of the cave and causing a mage light to appear before us, lighting our way.

“But you _do_ like her,” I said, once we’d been trudging through the mud and slush for five minutes or so.

“And that’s your business _how_?”

I stopped and looked at her.

“Really? Eleanor, come on.”

I couldn’t see her face well beneath the bobbing light of the mage light, but I liked to imagine that she at least had the grace to blush.

“All right,” she said, sighing again. “I guess that’s fair. But you being madly in love with a king and moping about it for months is not the same as me being sad that a girl I like probably doesn’t like me back.”

“How do you know she doesn’t like you back?” I asked, as I resumed our search.

She shrugged. “Ysme talked to me about it. Said she isn’t the type to settle.”

“So you’re basing this on something _Ysme_ said?” I snorted. “Maybe she’s just jealous you’re going to steal her best friend.”

“Hardly. Look, the truth is, we’re two different people. Hanna’s a soldier. I’m a librarian. She isn’t going to leave off soldiering just to be with me, and I’m certainly not going to quit my job at the library.”

“Um, I might know a thing or two about falling in love with someone who’s really different from you.”

“I’m sure you do. But I’m not in love. Just because she kissed me doesn’t mean—

“She KISSED you?!” I asked, whirling around and staring at her.

“Could you not look at me like that? It’s creepy.”

“Sorry,” I said, but I couldn’t help grinning. “It’s just, you’re both my friends, so—I mean, I want you to be happy, and Hanna’s—I guess what I’m saying is, just ignore Ysme and tell Hanna how you feel. It’s not like long distance can’t work. And soldiers get breaks. I’m pretty sure assistant librarians do, too.”

“We can’t all communicate by royal mail, you know.”

“Would you stop making this about me? I’m just saying, if there’s a chance it could work, why not—hey, I think I see the mushrooms!”

I wish I can say I was thoughtful and discreet as we gathered the ingredients and began to make our way back to the cave. But I couldn’t help pressing her for details. I wanted to know when they had first kissed, and who had made the first move (Hanna). How had it happened? What had happened afterward? Did anyone else know? (Ysme, and, surprisingly, Nirya—apparently, they’d had a girl-to-girl talk about their love lives.) Eleanor answered me patiently enough. I think she was fully aware of how much the tables had turned.

Not that my own fears and anxieties were completely lain to rest. But considering where I was, and the situation we were currently in—there was no point in agonizing over what I still didn’t know.

Hanna met us near the cave entrance. She said she had to ready her horse, and that the professors wanted me to come and add my post-script to the Arch-Mage’s letter. I noticed Eleanor lingering, sort of awkwardly, as I headed further into the cave. I heard Hanna finally mutter, “Shor’s bones. Just come here already.” When I looked over my shoulder, they were holding hands, and Hanna brought her other hand up to Eleanor’s cheek, and—

I tripped on a rock and cursed under my breath. I suppose that was the gods’ way of telling me to mind my own business.

Hanna rode out that night. She was to remain at the Stormcloak camp until she received an answer, which would likely take some time, as the returning bird knew only to return to a nearby fort, and from there a rider would ride out to the camp and deliver the letter. Nearly a week had passed by the time Hanna returned, and when she did, she had not only the letter, but at least two dozen horses and half as many soldiers.

Lia Stone-Fist had not failed us. I was beside myself with relief when I learned the news, and Professor Aren was rather kind enough to allow me to read her response:

_To Professor Savos Aren, and the mages of Winterhold College:_

_I am disturbed to hear of your recent trials, yet relieved that you are all well for the time being. As you no doubt know by now, Ulfric Stormcloak is now High King of Skyrim, and Windhelm has ever been the true seat of the High King. Your petition has been heard, and aid will be sent to you directly. Horses, supplies, and soldiers will be sent to assist you from the surrounding camps and forts. Your request for discretion is acknowledged and will be obliged._

_Yours Most Cordially,_

_Lia Stone-Fist_

_p.s. Well, Casien Yedlin, we shall make a politician of you yet. Ulfric would be proud._

The relief her response brought was twofold. Not only had my advice been sound—and it had been a very big ‘if,’ despite my professed assurances to my professors—but it seemed clear to me that the king was, without a doubt, still alive. The war had indeed been won, and I supposed he either still resided in Solitude for the time being or even now was returning with the vestiges of his army to Windhelm. Perhaps there would even be a letter waiting for me back at the college. I confess the thought filled me with anticipation and joy.

More horses and supplies trickled in over the next few days. In time, we were ready to depart. Everyone had, for the most part, fully recovered by now; even Nirya was able to walk around relatively pain free. I wish I could say that the trek back to the college was a pleasant one, or at least a reasonably comfortable one. But we kept near the shore, where the wind was quite bitterly cold, even at this time of year. To stray outside the tents at night was to endure utter misery. But our destination was a hidden, lower entrance through the Midden; this would allow us to discreetly reenter the college without the people of Winterhold being any the wiser. Professors Faralda and Neloren had ridden ahead with several master students, where they had allegedly met Nelacar at the gates. They traveled much faster than we did, and left several days beforehand, so that Nelacar could be relieved as soon as possible. I learned later that he had done a rather astounding job at keeping the townspeople none the wiser as to what had happened. Something about there being some sort of nonlethal magical virus which would run its course within a few weeks, thus allowing no one to enter or leave the college. When I asked Professor Marence if such viruses even existed, she had simply snorted and referred to Nelacar as a ‘cunning old fellow,’ but that they were all lucky the local populace was so gullible.

Life, for the most part, returned to normal. Within days of our arrival, classes resumed. All staff members remained loyal to the college and happily resumed their own duties, though I did overhear a couple of cooks’ assistants joking about the ‘hazard pay’ their superiors had managed to guilt the Arch-Mage into agreeing to. I supposed they’d earned it, and it said a lot that all of the staff chose to remain with the college even after such a deadly event.

I wish I had been present to see the reunion between Nelacar and Professor Aren. The two were not friends, but the Arch-Mage certainly owed Nelacar a great debt now. I imagine it was cordial, perhaps even excessively polite, with Professor Mirabelle occasionally nudging her colleague and reminding him to be civil. I _will_ say that after that we did occasionally run into Nelacar within the college itself; I don’t suppose he gave up his house or was even invited to do so, but he apparently was now allowed to access the college’s vast resources for his own personal studies.

Alas, there was no letter waiting for me in my room.

I wondered at first if it were merely because the mail had naturally backed up while there was no one to really receive it, but after a few days, I had to resign myself to the reality: the king had not written me, not since he had been injured.

I was sitting on my bed, books spread out before me but unable to study because of this melancholy thought ringing about in my head, when there was a knock on my bedroom door.

“Come in,” I said, not bothering to get up.

I was a little surprised to see Eleanor; Brelyna was generally the only one who ever visited me in my room, usually to ask if I wanted to study or to compare notes from class.

“Hi,” she said.

She looked a little nervous. I couldn’t help arching one eyebrow.

“Are you going to come in or just stand there?” I asked.

She rolled her eyes and, closing the door behind her, came and sat down opposite me at the foot of my bed, kicking her boots off before crossing her legs in front of her.

“What are you studying?” she asked, reaching for one of the books between us.

“Restoration. I’m so bad at it. Professor Neloren recommended a few texts that might help with the theory side of it. Maybe if I can understand the theory of healing magic, I’ll be able to cast better spells.”

“You don’t _have_ to be good at every branch of magic, you know,” she said, rolling her eyes again and smiling. “Everyone specializes eventually. Even the professors aren’t experts at everything.”

“I know. I guess I just don’t like being bad at something. At anything,” I added guiltily.

She nodded, and I had a feeling she knew exactly how I felt, since in many ways she and I were cut from the same cloth. I often wondered if she regretted having no magical abilities. But I don’t think I would have, in her place. Magic was, after all, just another thing for me to study, investigate, and learn more about. If I didn’t have magic, I would have inevitably turned to some other subject to occupy my thoughts.

“So…” I said, when she didn’t immediately say anything in response. I figured she’d come by for _some_ reason.

“Can’t I visit my best friend without being interrogated about it?” she asked, grinning.

I grinned back. “You sound like Brelyna.”

She laughed. “She’s too adorable sometimes.”

She was silent for a moment, then her eyes met mine and her expression actually seemed to soften, even as she seemed to grow slightly more awkward.

“Thanks for not plaguing me with questions about Hanna,” she finally said, “Or telling the others.”

I shrugged again.

“Contrary to what you might actually think, I _do_ actually care about you both. I’m not really the gossiping type, to be honest. But if you ever want to talk…”

“I know,” she said. “Honestly, there’s nothing to talk about. She had to return to Windhelm to await orders, but she said she’d write. I think… I mean, I believe her. I said it was okay if she met someone else, but she said she doesn’t really have time for relationships. Um,” she added, coloring noticeably, “with other people. Besides me.”

I couldn’t help the grin that spread over my face.

“That’s really great,” I said. “I’m happy for you guys.”

“Don’t be. Not yet. She didn’t really promise anything specific, and Ysme says she has… I think she called it ‘appetites’? I swear, if there’s a vulgar way to put something, she’ll find it. Anyway, it’s not like I made Hanna promise not to see anyone else for, you know, _comfort_. Ugh.”

I laughed; she was really blushing now, and I couldn’t help feeling bad for her. But she didn’t seem unhappy, either; she was practical, and something of a pessimist, I was finally learning. So I suspected things weren’t as up-in-the-air as she was making them out to be.

“What about you?” she asked.

I blinked. “Me?”

“Yes, _you_.” She snorted. “You haven’t heard from him, have you? I can tell. FYI, we can all tell. You know he’s alive and well, so why the long face?”

There was really no point in denying or hiding what I felt from my friends anymore, so I just sighed and leaned back against my headboard.

“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “Why hasn’t he written? Has he changed his mind? Maybe a High King isn’t meant to have a Dunmer lover after all.”

“Ridiculous,” she said. “You’re anxious, as usual, so you’re inventing things to worry about.”

“I know. It’s kind of what I do.”

She smiled, a little huff of air escaping her.

“At least you can finally acknowledge it. Well, just be patient. I’m sure he has a thousand people clamoring for his attention right now. The man sent you love letters religiously for weeks; he even insisted on sending one when he was only half-conscious. Maybe he _did_ send a letter, only it got lost along the way. But if there’s one thing I’m fairly certain of, it’s that that king of yours is more than a little bit crazy in love with you. The wife of his greatest general ordered his soldiers to escort a group of _mages_ through the wilderness. You do realize she did that for _you_ , don’t you? And she wouldn’t do that if she didn’t think you were awfully important to her king.”

On this I was more than a little skeptical. Yes, I think my presence certainly encouraged Galmar’s wife to act as she did, but I don’t think she would have turned her back completely on the mages of Winterhold. The relationship between the college and Windhelm was fairly cordial, so far as I knew, and I knew she wouldn’t risk upsetting that while the king was away. It simply wouldn’t have been her place to do so.

But Eleanor’s words of wisdom did prove true in another way. Only a day letter, a letter was finally delivered to me:

_My Heart,_

_By now I am sure the news has reached you: the war is won. We have prevailed._

_Soltitude is in chaos. Many of my generals—Galmar among them—call for the execution of Jarl Elisif, but I have not allowed it. It would lead to further bloodshed, and the city, indeed the entire hold, could not withstand it. For the time being, I remain here, though I begin to suspect my presence sows as much discord as it does stability. The people love their queen, for she saw to it that Soltitude, at least, did not bear the brunt of the Empire’s iron grip. However, she cannot remain jarl, and I hesitate to leave the city without being certain of whose hands I leave it in._

_None of this interests you. You are, no doubt, furious with me for not writing to you once I recovered from my injury. In truth, I am still recovering, but that is no excuse. I realized that it was thoughts of you, and of the love I bore for you, that preoccupied my mind to such an extent that I could not focus on battle or strategy. I don’t blame you, little roebuck. The fault is my own. I am a fool who dreams of his lover—I have thought of you often, how I have treated you, how forgiving you have been towards me; I miss your eyes, your lips, the warmth of your body pressing against my own—I embarrass us both now. Galmar says he once called you my distraction, and I ought to have listened to him, for there is no one who knows me so well._

_On his advice, I set aside my thoughts of you until the war was won. I know this will do little to redeem my neglect. But perhaps I assume too much. Perhaps I am an even greater fool than even Galmar believes me to be. It is an age since I have seen you and held you in my arms. Even now I presume that you think of the night we shared together as fondly as I do. Perhaps, after all, I am an old fool who presumes too much._

_My heart—my Casien—yes, you have my heart. I do not know if I still have yours, but if I do, know that I still cherish it faithfully._

_I must end this. I have filled what little space I have with my foolishness. You should know that, irrespective of any of this, I regret my neglect of Windhelm and her people. A man, king or otherwise, has lost his way when his ambition outstrips his compassion. Before I shared my heart with you, it belonged solely to Skyrim. But love and passion are not excuses for willful blindness._

_I hope these thoughts bring you some comfort, even if the rest of this letter does not._

_Ulfric_

I was shocked.

I lay there on my bed, staring at the signature of my lover, wondering if I had truly just read what I thought I’d read. Ulfric Stormcloak _doubted_? He doubted my love for him, my faithfulness, my belief in him?

These were the last words I had ever expected to hear from such a man. To me he had ever been a paragon of strength and confidence. And yet—how often did he reveal his doubts to me? How often did he agonize over whether or not he had made the correct decision in matters of war and government and business? In public, he did indeed project strength and confidence, but he was only one man. And I would not have fallen in love with him, had I thought him some god devoid of depth of feeling. Surely those feelings included fear, loneliness, and doubt—feelings we all sometimes harbored, no matter who we were.

How my heart ached for him! I longed to tell him how I felt, to reassure him that my feelings had remained unchanged. If anything, they had increased, for being apart from him for so long had made me regret even more how foolish we had both been those last two months. And I missed—not merely his physical presence, his mouth pressing against my own, his arms holding me close—I missed our conversations. I missed the way his brow furrowed when he was deep in thought. I missed the way his eyes lit up and crinkled at the corners when I had said or done something to amuse him.

I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. I missed him fiercely, yet my heart was lighter than air, reveling in the professions of love he’d expressed in his letter. Truly, what had I done to earn the regard of such a man? I surely didn’t know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the abruptness of the ending to this chapter. It was originally TWICE as long, so I had to find a decent place to cut it in half. I'm currently editing the second part, which will be [wipes tear] the final chapter in this story. Look for it soon!
> 
> FYI, I have started on a sequel. Yes!! I know, crazy. I'll post the final chapter of this story and the first chapter of the sequel at the same time, so all the current readers can subscribe to the new story. Now that I think about it, that'll probably be awhile from now. 
> 
> Sowwy ;_;


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, to everyone who read, left kudos for, and commented on this story. ♥ Your encouragement truly kept me going. Casien's story happened because of you. 
> 
> Casien, his friends, and even Ulfric thank you for letting me tell their story ♡

I could scarcely hide the news from my friends at breakfast the next day.

“Look, everyone,” said Onmund, as I plopped down opposite him at the table. “No need to erect a Friendship Barrier to know that Casien’s received another letter!”

I grinned and gave him a good-natured kick under the table. Of course they all wanted to know what good news I had to impart, for surely my expression could only hint at my having received good news. Naturally, I kept the deeply personal contents of the letter to myself, but I didn’t mind sharing with them that he was alive and healthy, and even that he had vowed to correct some of the wrongdoings in Windhelm.

Eleanor shook her head at me as she buttered a piece of toast.

“I wonder. Will the people of Windhelm even know who to thank?”

“Didn’t you say you rode out with him the day you left the city?” asked Nirya. “They already know.”

“A Dunmer _would_ stick out, riding next to a Nord king!” agreed Brelyna.

“You’re wrong,” I said, perhaps feeling a little defensive towards my lover, regardless of whether he deserved it or not. “He doesn’t promise these things _just_ for me. Maybe I helped him see what he didn’t want to see. But he said—

I stopped, mid-sentence, realizing I was about to reveal too much.

“…Said what?” prompted Eleanor.

I chewed the inside of my cheek for a moment, then: “He said he would look into things regardless of how I felt about him. I think… well, I guess I forget sometimes that _he_ hasn’t been receiving letters from _me_. He hasn’t seen or heard from me since the day we parted. So…”

Brelyna’s eyes widened. “He’s having doubts? That’s so sad!!”

“I know I’ve said this before,” said Onmund, “but you must be really, _really_ good in bed.”

“Seriously,” said Eleanor, snorting. “Who else could get a king—the _High King_ —all worked up like that?”

I groaned. “You guys are the absolute worst.”

The days, then, stretched into weeks. The air became noticeably cooler. Though I continued to visit the rooftop each evening, it had become more of a habit than anything, and I even began using it as a chance to read and enjoy my solitude. With a mage light bobbing over me, my lover’s cloak wrapped around me, and Nelacar’s amulet around my neck—he had graciously offered to recharge it for me—I would sometimes sit up there for well over an hour, immersing myself in history, culture, or poetry. But soon even my cloak and charm weren’t enough to keep the cold from seeping into my bones. Summer was fading.

Nirya came up for adept. Her chosen professor, Professor Neloren, set a task for her, as all professors did for hopeful adepts. She was to retrieve some artifact far to the south, and Onmund, to no one’s great surprise, volunteered to accompany her. We remaining three were proud, but we would miss them fiercely, as the onset of winter would prevent them returning, whether successful or not, until spring.

As for myself, I felt as though I was in a sort of limbo. I waited for my next letter, as if it would provide me with some sort of direction. But I knew it was wrong to rely on Ulfric to instruct me on what I should do next. I was no longer a danger to myself or those around me, so I didn’t necessarily have to remain at the college. Yet I was happy here. And at present, I had no idea where the king even was.

“Back in Windhelm by now, surely,” said Eleanor, stirring milk into her tea.

It was after dinner, yet we lingered in the dining room, the three of us perhaps a little lonelier than usual with the absence of the other two.

“He wasn’t sure if he should leave Soltitude though,” I said. “Everything’s a mess over there, apparently.”

“But… that was over a month ago,” said Brelyna, evidently fearing that bringing up that fact would in turn bring me some pain, but it didn’t.

“True,” I agreed. “I just wish he would write to me. Or Galmar, or Lia. _Some_ one.”

“Casien, right?”

We all three looked up at the young woman standing near our table. She was one of the newly hired guards who patrolled the college hallways, adding to the ranks of those who already did so, for, not surprisingly, the Arch-Mage had seen fit to hire even more.

I blinked. “Yes?”

“There’s a man at the gates, at the base of the bridge. He says he needs to see you. I said I would have to speak to Mirabelle Ervine first, but he said he was ‘my king’ and that if I knew what was good for me, I’d do as he said.” She shrugged. “He has about twenty other soldiers with him, and one of them looks as if he could cleave me in two with that war axe of his, so I figure I’d better do as he asks.”

I’m quite sure my heart must have stopped.

We all sat there in silence for approximately three seconds before Brelyna suddenly stood up and cried, “It’s _HIM_!!!”

I was halfway across the dining room before I even knew it. I heard Eleanor call after me, “Casien!! Your cloak!” but I didn’t listen. I ran through the great hall, my heart pounding now, my limbs feeling as if they shook with each pounding step. People stared at me in alarm and shifted hastily out of my way. I pushed the heavy outer doors open and paused to look over the side of the bridge, my gloveless hands resting on the freezing cold parapet.

Far below, I saw them: a group of soldiers on horseback, one of which flew a banner with a familiar emblem: the outline of a great bear.

Behind and around them, a group of townspeople, curious onlookers, were beginning to crowd around. One of them, a woman, I think, pointed up towards me, and the soldiers all turned to gaze up in my direction, including the two men at their head.

I ran. A patrolling guard yelled out at me as I passed him, something about slowing my pace or else I’d risk breaking my neck on the freezing cold stones, but I didn’t pay him any heed. The cold air stuck in my lungs, my heart thumping even harder in my chest, my stomach turning somersaults. I turned, my boots skidding on the rock and ice, and raced down the latter part of the bridge.

I saw him. He had dismounted, and he stood there, waiting, as tall and still as an oak. The wind whipped the hood of his cloak back, and pushed his yellow hair past his shoulders. His beard was fuller than last I’d seen him. His lips moved as if he would speak, but I never gave him the chance.

I think I surprised him, racing headlong into him and wrapping my arms around him, burying my face in his neck. I felt his arms go around me as well, and I lifted my legs momentarily, clinging tightly to him as I breathed him in, my fingers gripping through the thick fur of his cloak. His beard scratched against my cheek; he smelled of horses, leather, and steel, and of himself—of the coffee he liked to drink, and the oil he liked to clean his armor with.

“Casien…”

I heard my name on his lips and pulled back, my feet finding the earth again. But only so I could turn my head up and meet his mouth with my own. His kiss broke my heart. I couldn’t help but think of his letter, and how much he had doubted my commitment to him. How happy he must be right now, to realize that yes—yes, I loved him, yes, I had always loved him and _would_ always love him.

“You came to see me,” I finally said, breaking the kiss breathlessly.

“Yes,” he said.

“I received you letters,” I said. “All of them. And I want you to know that I love you. You do have my heart. You _do_. And I’m so happy you’re alive, and so _angry_ with myself for how stupid we were back in Windhelm, and mad at myself for letting you leave me, but grateful that you encouraged me to come here—

“Casien,” he said again, a smile nipping at the corners of his mouth. “Breathe.” His right hand cupped my cheek, his gloved thumb stroking my skin, fingers curling into my hair.

I laughed. “I know. I just can’t believe you’re here. You never said you were coming.”

“It’s that damned romantic soul of his,” grumbled Galmar, and I confess I had quite forgotten that anyone else in the world even existed before he spoke up. “Insisted on coming here. Cut our way through the mountains while the rest of the army returned home.”

I blinked and met the king’s solemn blue eyes again.

“Was that a good idea?” I asked. “Shouldn’t you return home with your soldiers? I could have met you…”

I trailed off, for my eyes had fallen down to his chest. I blinked again, certain that what I saw there couldn’t be true. But the intricately woven cross and blue stone could only be one thing. My mouth suddenly went dry, my heart shook, rattling about in my throat before falling back down into my stomach.

“…Is that an amulet of Mara?” I asked.

“It is,” he said.

Behind him, I heard one of the horses stomp its hoofs; another blew out a plume of air. I was distantly aware of the townspeople, more of whom had now gathered around us. I sensed, to some degree, that there was now a group from the college that had gathered behind me, as well.

“You’re… asking me to marry you?” I said.

I looked up at him. He didn’t say anything. His face remained seemingly impassive, though I could just tell that his lips had thinned, and his eyes were gazing intensely back at me. I think he was nervous.

“Blessed Azura,” I said. I felt suddenly faint, and was only somewhat aware of the large hand that now gripped my shoulder. I noticed a small smile had finally begun to spread onto his face. I tried to steady my breathing, but I’m not sure how successful I was.

“Casien,” he said, definitely smiling now. “Just say ‘yes’.”

“Yes,” I said, the word falling from my mouth automatically.

I was, quite naturally, gathered back into his arms, and the kiss we shared took my breath away all over again, and then I hugged him, and kissed his neck, and hugged him again, unable to bear the thought of being apart from him again, even for a moment.

I felt his fingers stroking through my hair again, his lips pressing against my temple.

“Will you introduce me to your friends?” he asked.

I backed away, startled. When I turned around, there were Eleanor and Brelyna, grinning like fools. Behind them were several other curious students, and more than one amused professor—namely, Professors Tolfdir, Faralda, and Mirabelle.

“Oh,” I said, stepping aside a little, though I felt his arm curl around my waist, not quite releasing me. “This is Brelyna…”

“I’ve heard SO much about you!!” she cried, stepping forward with huge eyes. “Casien is SO in love with you. You have no idea!”

“Er…” I cleared my throat, determined to continue as if she hadn’t said a word, despite the fact that several of the soldiers, townspeople, and mages were now laughing.

“And this is Eleanor.” I gestured at my other smiling friend.

“My lord,” she said, the grin never leaving her face.

“A pleasure to meet you both,” he replied. He nodded at the professors. “And these, I suppose, are your teachers.”

“Welcome to the college,” said Professor Mirabelle after they had all been introduced.

The king nodded at her, then turned to me again, putting his arm around my shoulders. “You are cold. Perhaps we should head inside. You can give me a tour of this college of yours.”

“Um…” I looked at Professor Mirabelle. “I’m not sure that’s entirely allowed.”

“Casien Yedlin,” she said. “We all owe you far too much to disallow you the pleasure of playing tour guide to your lover. Even if he _is_ a king,” she added with an arched brow.

Ulfric actually condescended to bow his head slightly. “Later,” he murmured, as she briefly lifted the enchantment so we could step back onto the bridge together, “You will explain to me why the professors at this school claim to _owe_ you.”

After bidding Galmar and the others to wait at the inn, he allowed me to take his hand and lead him over the bridge and into the college proper. Those who had initially come out to goggle at us eventually had the grace to disperse, and even my two friends—after exchanging a knowing grin with one another, of course—made themselves conspicuously absent.

I was too happy to really think about what I was doing. I pulled him towards the healing ward first, explaining that here was where I had first woken up, for I had been attacked by wolves on the journey here and fallen ill from infection.

“Is that so,” he said, his blue eyes sharpening.

“It wasn’t Hanna or Ysme’s fault!” I said quickly, “In fact, the only reason I’m alive is because they rode until their horses nearly toppled over from exhaustion to get me here in time. _I_ was the idiot who ventured out into a snow storm when there were wolves about. It was totally my fault.”

“Mm,” came the noncommittal reply, and so I thought it best to leave the healing ward behind.

Next I showed him the classrooms, some of which were in use despite the late hour; the students paused to gape at us, for I think some of them knew who it was I had with me.

“I hope you don’t plan to interrupt my class _every_ time the High King of Skyrim comes to visit,” said Professor Enthir from the front of his classroom.

“No, Professor,” I said, unable to hide my smile. “Sorry.”

“Good,” he said, “Jarl Ulfric,” he added, nodding politely to the king.

“Professor,” replied the king.

The library was next. It was rather full, considering the hour, as students frequently flocked here after dinner to do a bit of studying, often in groups. Professor Urag, predictably, showed absolutely zero reverence towards my guest and merely gruffly warned him against touching anything he wasn’t meant to touch. I could see the king’s eyes narrow at being addressed so rudely, and thought it wise to pull him away again, even though we had only managed to tour the first floor.

“This is the dining hall,” I said as we passed it. “I was eating dinner here when I learned you had arrived.”

I stopped abruptly, a thought coming to me.

“Have you eaten?” I asked, for I suppose he had ridden straight through town and up to the college.

“I can wait,” he said, though for what, I couldn’t say.

Finally, I took him to the apprentice tower. A hush died down as we entered, as I think rumor had already spread that I had the High King of Skyrim with me, a man who was also my lover. Apprentices stared at us at first before hastily doing their best to pretend they were intensely interested in their book or their private conversation.

“There are the stairs that lead to the roof,” I said, pointing them out. “I went up every night—or at least I tried to. Tell me I’m not a _total_ idiot, and that I wasn’t the only one staring up at that damned star each night.”

Bawling my eyes out half the time, I wanted to add, though of course I didn’t.

“You were not,” he said, his voice softening slightly.

“And these are our rooms,” I went on, gesturing to the array of doors around us. “That’s Brelyna’s room, and that’s Eleanor’s. That’s Nirya’s—you haven’t met her, or Onmund either. They’re—

“Casien.”

I turned, startled, and looked at him.

His hand came up to cup my cheek again, and I brought my own hand up, resting it absently on the back of his.

“Which one is your room?” he asked, and now his voice did _not_ sound soft. It sent a shiver of anticipation down my spine, and I felt myself flush. _Oh_.

In retrospect, I suppose I had been to some extent stalling. It wasn’t that I was nervous—not truly—or that I didn’t wish to be with him. But we had only spent one night together before being separated for many months. Now, that night felt like a distant dream, something I wasn’t entirely sure I hadn’t conjured up to soothe my own broken heart. Perhaps, then, I _was_ nervous, though it’s rather hard to explain why or how.

“It’s this way,” I said.

I exchanged one more look with him before pulling him towards my room. As soon as I closed the door, he gathered me into his arms and kissed me, and I very earnestly kissed him back. Any nervousness I had been harboring immediately dissipated. I could feel how much he wanted me, and I knew he could feel me as well.

“That bed,” he said, glancing at it, as I busied myself tugging at the drawstring of his trousers and kissing his chin, “Does not look very sturdy.”

“I can be gentle,” I teased, mimicking the exact words he had uttered so long ago before all his friends. How embarrassed they had made me!

“Hm,” he murmured, evidently appreciating the joke.

The bed, though small, did its best to hold our combined weight. And for all my teasing, we were neither of us hasty, rough lovers; despite our need for one another, we were quiet, passionate, but slow and methodical in our lovemaking. How I had missed the press of his lips against my skin, the feel of his hands stroking and holding me! We had only shared the one night together, yet now it felt as if we had always been lovers. I prayed that it would always be so, that making love to him would always feel as warm and safe and  _right_ as it did now.

My small bed rather necessitated post-lovemaking cuddling, too, which I’m sure neither of us needed to be duped into initiating. My broad-shouldered lover lay on his back, and I wrapped my spent body around him, nestling my face into the crook of his neck, his arm curled loosely around my waist. We were silent for a time, which I suppose is somewhat funny, considering how long we must have both longed to see and speak to one another again.

I was careful to avoid the still-puckered scar on his left side; I don’t think it caused him any pain any longer, but it pained _me_ to even look at it, and realize how close I had come to losing him.

“What happens now?” I finally asked, the fingers of my right hand playing with a strand of his tangled yellow hair.

“Meaning?” His warm, sleepy voice made me smile.

“I mean… to us,” I replied. “And to you. You’re High King, and…”

“I am not,” he said, interrupting me. “There will be a moot, to be held in Whiterun. There the remaining jarls will appoint the new leaders of that city, Markath, Falkreath, Morthal, and Solitude. There, too, I will officially claim the title of High King—unless another chooses to challenge me.”

“So there could be more bloodshed,” I said, my spirits sinking. “More war.”

He surprised me by laughing, the gentle sound vibrating through his chest.

“No, little roebuck. No more war. I am afraid I must resume my role as politician once again. Korir, Laila, Skald, and I shall appoint new jarls who will support our cause. It will be a difficult business, for the people of each city must approve of the choice and be willing to follow their new king or queen. But there will be no more war.”

The relief this brought me was probably palpable. I closed my eyes for a moment, allowing myself to revel in the knowledge that I would not have to relive these past few months for a long, long time—if ever.

“And us?” I asked after a while. “If you’re really serious about… this….” I rested my palm over the amulet of Mara, which still lay over his chest, warmed now by his skin.

“I am,” he said, a sternness creeping into his voice.

I sat up a little, gazing down at him. “Are you sure? You said you have to be a politician again. Your people don’t like mine, and that’s not going to change overnight. Plus I’m pretty sure the feeling’s mutual. Will they follow a High King who weds a Dunmer? A Dunmer _mage_?”

“The people respect strength. I have defeated our enemies, and Skyrim is free again because of our efforts. And now she is weary from tyranny, and weary from war. No one will go to war over a king having an elf as a husband.”

The word ‘husband’ predictably made me blush, and I do believe he smiled when he said the word as well. I blinked, willing the heat away from my face, for it was something I was going to have to get used to—yet even had he been nothing more than a farmer or a blacksmith, I would have been nervous at the prospect. I was only 20, after all, and marriage had never been something I’d thought overmuch about.

“And us?” he repeated after a while, prompting me gently.

I swallowed.

“Well… you’re the king—soon to be High King. I’m… _me_. I have a life here at the college now. I can’t imagine leaving it, but…”

He brought a hand up, cupping one side of my face, his thumb stroking over my still warm cheek.

“Do you wish to stay here?”

“Yes, of course I want to stay. But…” I tried, several times, to articulate what I wanted to say, but it was hard. I didn’t wish to seem foolish in front of him, or childish, or—I don’t know. I was, probably, overthinking things again.

“Tell me,” he said.

“I don’t want to be parted from you,” I said, the words tumbling out of me. “Ever again. I know that sounds stupid. And I know you’re always going to be busy with, you know, king stuff. And being at the college is really important to me; there’s _so much_ I still have to learn. But I don’t… I mean, I _can’t_. I can’t be apart from you again. I don’t think I could handle it!”

“I must remain at Windhelm,” he said. “That cannot change.”

I nodded miserably. “I know.”

“I can’t make this decision for you. But if it’s knowledge you crave, _that_ I can provide, to a degree. We can arrange for tutors. Perhaps establish a smaller branch of the college.”

I sat up a bit more.

“Yes!” I said, seizing on the idea. “Maybe even one in every city! Of course all of the most important artifacts would have to remain here. And the Arch-Mage would have to approve…”

“I believe Savos Aren has always been a reasonable man.”

I nodded. “Professor Mirabelle though… and some of the others… I don’t know. But it’s an idea. And maybe they could post master students there, as interim teachers for local students. At least young mages would have a better chance at controlling their abilities. Not everyone can make the journey to Winterhold. And maybe this would normalize magic, too, especially if the college and the cities were mutually beneficial to one another—healers! They could staff a healer at every branch college!”

He smiled and even chuckled a little.

“I take it you like this idea.”

I smiled and gave his chest a little shove.

“Don’t mock me. Yes, I like it. And I’m definitely coming home with you. Even if the Arch-Mage doesn’t approve of our plan, I can still always return to the college. But for now… I want to be with you.”

“Is Windhelm home now?” he asked, lowering his hand so he could take one of mine in his own.

“Home is wherever you are,” I said. “You have my heart, remember?”

“And you have mine. Skyrim will always be home, but while you are here, I am happy.”

Such seemingly simple words made my heart ache, and I couldn’t help but hug him again, kissing his jaw and burying my face into his neck. ‘Home’ for him was duty, and honor, and everything that made him the man he was. But without me, he couldn’t be happy. The realization overwhelmed me. _This_ is what he had been feeling the entire time we had been apart from one another. No wonder Galmar forbid him from writing to me after he had been injured—not that I was fully prepared to forgive my old sword master, for as much as my lover had been suffering from my absence, so, too, had I suffered from his.

But we would not have to suffer any longer—ever again, if the gods were truly kind to us.

When I left Solstheim some three years ago, I never could have imagined my life turning out the way it had. I was an orphan, with no prospects and no money, and I had everything to hate and fear about the world. People turned their backs to me, even my own kin, and my own people. Were it not for the kindness of Helgird, I may have even died in Windhelm.

Is it fate or chance that after praying to the gods I was rescued by the priestess of Arkay? I still don’t know. I still don’t know if the gods truly exist, though I hope if they do exist they forgive my lingering doubts. I like to think that I have done well for myself, that, despite the kindness that has frequently been extended towards me, I also have myself to thank for my successes thus far.

No one has ever asked me why I think Ulfric chose me. I keep waiting, but they haven’t. Maybe it’s because we all know that we don’t choose the ones we love. Love chooses for us.

And if love is a goddess, then I think, for myself and my beloved, she has chosen very well indeed.

//

 

A/N: The story doesn't end here! Wondering if a stubborn old bear king and a Dunmer servant-turned-apprentice mage can truly live together in perfect, wedded bliss? You're in luck! Casien's story continues [HERE](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16192718/chapters/37840817) ♡ ♥ ❤

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dearest, loveliest reader, if you've gotten this far, please oh please let me know what you think in the comments. 
> 
> (✿´‿`) I _love_ hearing from readers, really ♥♥


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